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REMINISCENCES 



OLD TEACHER. 



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Br GEORGE B. EMERSON. 



BOSTON : 

ALFRED MUDGE & SON, PRINTERS, 34 SCHOOL STREET. 
1878. 






Coptright, A. D. 1878, 
By GEORGE B. EMERSON. 

40 \ ~ &± £ 



7 



INTRODUCTION. 



After much hesitation I have concluded, notwithstand- 
ing the advice of some of my best friends, to reprint from 
the Journal of Education some of the papers which I fur- 
nished, at the editor's request, as Reminiscences of an 
Old Teacher. I should be glad to have every young man 
in the country seeking for a truly liberal education live 
such a life as I lived till I entered college. Through 
life, though spent at a distance from the fields, and in an 
occupation as unlike husbandry and gardening as possible, 
I have enjoyed the familiar knowledge I obtained of the 
earth, and of everything that grows out of the earth, 
and of the animals, quadrupeds, birds, fishes, and in- 
sects with which I became familiarly acquainted. I have 
been benefited and blest by the habits I formed of usino- 
all my bodily faculties in daily vigorous exercise for some 
hours ever\ T summer's day till I entered college. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Early Education — * 1 

Major Cozens 8 

Sea Fishing 9 

Enters College. Classmates 12 

First School 14 

Hard Study 17 

Studies in Vacation 21 

School in Vacation 22 

Graduation 24 

School in Lancaster 24 

Tutor in Cambridge 28 

Conversation with Mr Norton 30 

Everett's Lectures 31 

Dr. Bowditch 32 

Calculus 33 

Visit to White Mountains 35 

English Classical School 51 

Warren Colburn 56 

Medals 61 

School for Young Ladies — 64 

Common Schools 70 

Society of Natural History 70 

Survey of the State 72 

Memorial to the Legislature 77 

Harvard Institute 86 

Board of Education 96 

Horace Mann 96 

Normal School. Cyrus Pierce at Lexington ... 96 

West Newton 97 

Private School for Females «~* ...... 97 

Vacation. Visit to Europe 97 

Forest Trees 101 

Louis Agassiz 120 

Farewell 136 



REMINISCENCES 



OLD TEACHER 



CHAPTER I. 

I YIELD to your request so far as to give 3-011 some 
account of certain years of my life, because I think 
there are things to be told which may be of use to 
other teachers., I was born on the 12th of September, 
1797, in Wells, in the county of York, district of 
Maine, then a part of Massachusetts. My father, a 
native of Hollis, New Hampshire, and a graduate of 
CLnbridge in 1784, was a plrysician, a man of cultiva- 
tion and taste, an excellent Latin scholar, well read in 
history and especially in old English poetiy, a good 
story-teller, and a most agreeable companion. These 
qualities made him very attractive. 

The Supreme Court of Massachusetts had two cir- 
cuits every year into Maine, the judges travelling in 
their own carriages, and holding a court at York and at 
Portland. The best tavern between these towns was 
Jefferds's, a short distance from my father's house, and 
the judges usually spent a night there. As they became 
acquainted with my father, they often passed an evening 
at his house, and I thus had the good fortune to be- 
come acquainted with such men as Judge Jackson and 
1 



2 REMINISCENCES OF 

the reporter, Dudley Atkins Tyng, — gentlemen distin- 
guished for their character and abilitj', and no less for 
the simplicity and refinement of their manners. 

As my father was a person of great public spirit, he 
was usually chairman of the school committee, and took 
care that there should always be a well-educated man 
as master of the school. Notwithstanding its excel- 
lence, my elder brother and myself were always, after I 
reached the age of eight years, kept at home and set to 
work as earl} 7 in the season as there was anything to be 
done in the garden or on our little farm. I thus grad- 
ually became acquainted with sowing, weeding, and har- 
vesting, and with the seeds, the sprouting and growth 
of all the various roots and stems and blossoms. I 
naturally watched the character, shape, and structure of 
the roots and of the leaves, the formation of the blos- 
soms, their flowering, the calyx, the petals, their times 
of opening, coming to perfection, persistence or falling, 
and the successive changes in the seed-vessels till the 
maturity of the seed, of all the plants of the garden and 
the field. I became also familiarly acquainted with all 
the weeds and their roots, and the modes of preventing 
their doing harm. I was getting real knowledge of 
things ; I formed the habit of observing. This was 
always valuable knowledge, the use of which I felt after- 
wards when I began to study botany as a science, and 
as long as I pursued it ; for, reading the description of 
a plant. I saw not the words of the book, but the roots 
and stems and leaves and flowers and seeds of the plant 
itself. And this habit of careful observation I naturally 
extended to whatever was the subject of my reading or 
study. 



AN OLD TEACHER. 3 

This was valuable, but I made another attainment of 
still greater value. I learned how to use every tool, 
spade and shovel, hoe, fork, rake, knife, sickle, and 
scythe, and to like to use them. I learned the use of 
all my limbs and muscles, and to enjoy using them. 
Labor was never, then nor afterwards, a hardship. I 
was not confined to the garden and field. I had to take 
care of horses, cows, sheep, and fowls, and early learned 
their character and habits, and that to make them all 
safe and kind and fond of me, it was only necessaiy to 
be kind to them. My father's garden extended from 
the house some little distance down to the river Mousum, 
a stream which issued from a lake more than thirty miles 
above, and furnished in its course motive-power to many 
saw-mills and grist-mills, two of which, and the mill- 
ponds which supplied them, were less than a quarter of 
a mile below our garden ; and up to the lower one came 
the tide from the sea. 

My brother and I were never obliged to work hard, 
nor for more than four or five hours a day, except in 
times of exigency, such as the threatening of rain when 
the made hay was on the ground. We were led, and 
opportunity was given, to become acquainted with the 
woods and streams and the sea. We were often told 
by our father that if we would make certain beds or 
squares perfectly clean, by such a day, we should go 
with him to Cape Porpoise, to fish for cunners and rock- 
cod, to Little Harbor for sea-trout, or up or down the 
Mousum for pickerel or perch. I thus became gradually 
acquainted with the fresh- water fishes above the dams, 
and those of salt water below, — an attainment of great 
value when I became responsible for the accuracy of 



4 REMINISCENCES OF 

volumes of Natural History submitted to my over- 
sight. 

We were allowed, at the proper seasons, on similar 
conditions, to join our sisters, in summer, in gathering 
huckleberries or blaeberries, on Picwacket Plain, where 
they grew, as the}' now grow, in the greatest luxuriance. 
In the fall, we went up the Mousum to gather chestnuts, 
over to Harrasicket for shagbarks, along the edges of 
the fields nearer home for hazel-nuts, and to the nearer 
and sometimes the more distant fields for strawberries, 
blackberries, and raspberries. 

EarVyin the morning I drove, or rather accompanied, 
the cows to pasture, half a mile off, and led them back 
at night. I rode the horses to water, and often har- 
nessed and unharnessed them. I have, through life, 
found it a great advantage to know how to do these 
things, and to be able to do them speedily and readily 
myself. 

I had constant opportunities, at all seasons of the 
3 T ear, of becoming acquainted with the trees and shrubs 
of the neighborhood, — the oaks, beech, birches, maples, 
hickories, pines, spruces, fir, and hemlock, and mairy of 
the shrubs and flowers. My father told me what sta- 
mens and pistils were, and that, according to the num- 
ber and position of these, Linnasus had arranged all 
plants into classes and orders. Mr. John Low, a near 
neighbor of ours, lent me the first volume of the 
" Memoirs of the American Academy," containing Dr. 
Manassah Cutler's account of the vegetable produc- 
tions growing near Ipswich, Mass. From this, with 
some other helps, I became acquainted with many, 
indeed most of the flowers and other wild plants in 



AN OLD TEACHER. 5 

our neighborhood, all, at least, that Dr. Cutler had 
described.* 

With all these pursuits, my brother and I had hours, 
almost every day, and the whole of rain}' clays, for read- 
ing and study. I read, with interest, books of travels, 
— Carver's and Bartram's, Park's travels in Africa, and 
Bruce's. I read much of the old poetry of our lan- 
guage, — Chaucer's, Sunn's, Drayton's, and still more 
of Cowper, Thomson, Goldsmith, Milton, Young, Gray, 
and others. With what delight did we devour the " Lay 
of the Last Minstrel," and all of Scott's poems as they 
came out ! 

My brother was then reading Virgil, and I perfectly 
remember one day when my father came into our room 
to hear him recite his lesson. I got leave to remain. 
M}^ brother read, — 

" Infandum, regina, jubes renovare dolorem " {/En. II, 3) ; 

and translated, " Immense grief, O queen, } t ou com- 
mand me to renew." " No, my dear boy, that is not 
a translation. Observe that infandum is from for, furi, 
to speak, with the negative in. ' Immense' is no trans- 
lation of that word. Indeed, it is a Latin word, and 
therefore no translation of any word. Immensus means 
unmeasured. ' Immense ' is no translation. Then 
dolorem does not mean grief. iEneas felt not grief for 
what he had suffered : it gave him pain to call it to 
mind. Then Queen Dido was treating JEneas with the 
greatest attention and respect. She would not com- 

*Dr. Cutler's account of "Indigenous Vegetables" is one of tbe 
most valuable papers ever given to American botanists. It is richly 
worth study even now. 



Q REMINISCENCES OF 

mand Mm ; she bade him, as we bid one another, ' Good 
morning,' or to come to dinner. The proper translation 
is, ' Unutterable pain, O queen, thou bidst me to 
renew.' " 

I then knew scarcely a word of Latin, but I always 
remembered this lesson as the best lesson I ever learned . 
I was immediately possessed by the idea and desire of 
studying Latin, and asked my father to let me begin. 
This he did, and set me to study Erasmus, Corderius, 
and others of the old school-books of seventy or eighty 
or a hundred years ago. He did not set me to commit 
to memory anything in grammar, but only to find out 
for myself the cases of nouns and adjectives, and the 
moods and tenses of verbs. In this way I went through 
some volumes of prose, and Virgil and parts of Ovid in 
poetry, though I read these with care and thoroughly. 
He let me go through the Greek Testament in a similar 
way, but declined to let me go on, as he distrusted his 
own knowledge of the Greek language, though I have no 
doubt, from his remembering and often quoting so many 
of the best lines in Sappho and Homer, that he might 
have done it with success. 

When the last ear of corn was husked and the last 
potato in the cellar, I went back to school. The other 
boys, my cousins and playmates, had been in school all 
summer, and were tired of it. I went back with delight, 
and gave myself to the work earnestly and diligently. 
Thus, though I was behind the others in my studies, I 
resumed and pursued them with so much zeal that I soon 
placed myself above many older, and brighter naturally 
than myself. 

So great were the advantages of my summer's employ- 



AN OLD TEACHER. 7 

ments that I have, for many years, had no doubt that it 
would be far better for all the boys in the country towns 
of Massachusetts not to be allowed to go to school in the 
summer, but to educate their muscles and form habits of 
observation and industry by pursuits similar to those 
which it was my privilege and happiness to be engaged 
in. 

I was sent to Dummer Academy, in Infield, where I 
remained twelve or fourteen weeks, and learned to repeat 
perfectly all that was required of Adam's Latin Gram- 
mar and the Gloucester Greek. What made it easy was 
that I knew so much of the languages as instantly to 
understand what many of the poor fellows there had early 
committed to memory, of much of the meaning of which 
they had no idea. This experience was valuable to me, 
but what was still more so was the acquaintance formed 
with boys whom I met afterwards at Cambridge, with 
some of whom I opened a correspondence which lasted 
as long as they lived. 



REMINISCENCES OF 



CHAPTER II. 

NEXT to my father's house dwelt Major Cozens, 
a quiet man, who had been a major in the old 
French war. His mode of life was of the primitive 
type. His land lay next my father's garden and 
fields, which had been purchased of him. He culti- 
vated Indian corn, potatoes, peas, and beans, and 
other vegetables, and flax, which he carried through all 
the processes of rotting, breaking, combing, and clean- 
ing, till it was reacty, in its two forms of flax and tow, 
for the little wheel of his wife and the large wheels of 
his daughters and granddaughter. The} r spun, and, in 
the winter, their father wove their spinning into the 
linen and tow-cloth for the pillow-cases and sheets, and 
tablecloths and towels, of the family. The Major also 
kept a flock of sheep large enough to furnish food for 
the family and for sale, and all the wool wanted for the 
warmer garments of the family, which the mother and 
daughters spun, and the father wove. For the few 
things to be made of cotton, this was bought at the 
shops, and carded and spun and woven at home. 

The}' kept several cows, furnishing them abundance 
of milk, butter, and cheese ; oxen, for all the summer's 
work of cultivation, and the hauling wood and lumber 
from the forest to the home, and the ship-yard or the 



AN OLD TEACHER. 9 

saw-mill. They also kept large flocks of hens and 
turkeys and ducks, — a supply for the home and the 
market. They thus lived an independent, simple, 
patriarchal life, every individual active, industrious, and 
busy. Before the building of the mills below my 
father's garden, the Major often went, as he told me, at 
the proper season, and, stationing himself on stones one 
on each side of the deepest passage in the river, secured, 
with a pitch-fork, many a shad, and sometimes a salmon. 
Was this not a higher and more respectable life 
than many of the country people live now? For the 
females, especially, it was better and healthier than 
most of the forms of life that have succeeded to it in 
country towns. The large wheel obliged them to 
throw their arms out and backward, so as to open the 
chest fully and naturally, to walk backward and for- 
ward perfectly erect, so as to develop their muscles and 
give them the best and most graceful shape of which 
the female form is capable. 

The Major had a son, Abner, living at home with 
him, when I came home from Dummer Academy. He 
had been on many voyages at sea ; and when at home, 
was occupied with ship-building and boat-building, or 
with fishing along the coast. He invited me to go 
down the river with him, and out to sea, often to spend 
the night, teaching me the management of a boat, the 
throwing of the killick, the use of an oar and the rud- 
der, and showing me the best spots to fish for cod and 
haddock, bass and pollock, and entertaining me with 
stories of his sea life. A few hours commonly enabled 
us to fill our small boat, and then to sail or row back. 
I became much interested in this sport, and, when 
2 



10 REMINISCENCES OF 

Abner went to sea, took these little voj^ages with young 
men whom I knew. Before he went, I accompanied 
him, and once, as I was fishing, told Abner I believed 
my hook had become fastened to something at the bot- 
tom, for I could not move it. He took hold of my 
line, and immediately said, " You have hooked a hali- 
but ; now, keep your line free from the gunwale, or he 
will break it. Keep always firm hold, and pull care- 
fully. When he refuses to come upward, let him go 
down. He will soon be tired, and will yield again." 
I kept hold, sometimes pulling up a few fathoms, and 
then letting him gradually go down. Changing, as 
Abner called it, with him for half an hour, I at last saw 
his head, and told Abner. " Stead} T ! " said he, and 
stationed himself on my right with a gaff in his hands, 
and setting another man also with a gaff on my left. 
As I pulled the fish to within two feet or less of the 
surface, each of them struck in his gaff, just at or below 
the gills, and we drew him on board. I was naturally 
elated at my luck, or skill as I counted it. The fish 
was what seemed to me enormous ; I have forgotten his 
dimensions, but only remember that, when weighed, his 
was found something more than twice my own weight. 

The late season, October, brought the time for night 
fishing in deep water, for hake and cusk. For this we 
sailed down the river in the afternoon, furnished our- 
selves with clams or other suitable bait, and rowed or 
sailed to a point nine miles from the shore, the best 
known for night fishing. Here we took in sail, threw 
down our killick, — a wooden anchor weighted with stone, 
— took our supper, and put in our lines, twice as long 
as those for shallower waters. Our place was so well 



AN OLD TEACHER. \\ 

chosen that we alwaj^s had luck, and often took in, by 
one or two o'clock in the morning, as many as our 
boat would safety hold. I then told m}' fellows to go 
to sleep in the bows, and I would watch in the stern 
sheets till morning. This we usually did, and my men 
slept till daybreak ; we then drew up our killick, hoisted 
sail, and made for the shore. 

Once, when we had been very lucky and my men 
had turned in early, I found a fair wind just at day- 
break, hoisted sail, took up killick, and steered for Moti- 
sum River, found water deep enough to enter the mouth, 
sailed up, and moored in the boat's place, and then waked 
my fellows, who were agreeably surprised to find them- 
selves in port, at home. 

We had a variety of adventures. Once, in a very 
dark night, I perceived by the sound that something 
was coming towards us. I ordered the men to take 
instantly to their oars, pulled vigorou sly upon the cable 
nxyself, and had the satisfaction of perceiving a large 
vessel pass directly over the place we had just occupied. 
There was no light on board, and nobody to hear our 
shouts. 

We had several other pieces of luck which it pleased 
me more to tell of than my mother to listen to ; so that 
at last she absolutely refused to give her consent to my 
going on a night voyage. Before this, however, I had 
enjoyed a sight which I must describe. It was in that 
part of autumn when the sea, in our latitude, is phos- 
phorescent. I had observed a little of it for several 
nights, but this night every ripple gave a flash of 
light. Our lines were visible for fort} T feet in the water, 
and the fishes we caught came up as masses of brilliant, 



12 REMINISCENCES OF 

golden light. We fished with two hooks to each line, 
and often brought up pairs of fine fishes. Once, each 
of us three was drawing up, at the same moment, two 
fishes ; with them came the entire school, so that the 
whole ocean, to the depth of forty feet, was flashing with 
the most vivid light. All these fishes remained near 
the surface for ten minutes or more, when the}' began 
to descend, but were still visible, like thousands of 
flashes of lightning, and to the depth of eighty or one 
hundred feet. For the whole night every motion, every 
little ripple, every wavelet, was a soft flash of beautiful 
light. 



AN OLD TEACHER. ]3 



CHAPTER III. 

I ENTERED college in 1813, and, with Joseph H. 
Jones, whom I had met at Dnmmer Academy, had 
a room assigned ns at 11 Massachusetts Hall, under 
Edward Everett, the tutor in Latin. Mr. Everett was 
very kind to me, and continued my friend to the end 
of his life. 

The first visit I made, after being established in col- 
lege, was to the Botanic Garden, to learn from Prof. 
Peck the najnes of the plants I had examined in Wells, 
for which I had found no names. He recognized them 
instantly from my description. 

The first term in college was one of delightful study, 
varied by the pleasure of becoming acquainted with 
nry classmates, some of whom became distinguished 
men, and two of them, George Bancroft and Caleb 
dishing, represented our country at foreign courts ; 
and several of whom, Rev. S. J. May, Hon. S. Salis- 
bury, Hon. S. E. Sewall, have been nry best and dear- 
est friends through life. 

At the end of the first term I went home, expecting 
to spend the vacation there ; but on Saturday, the next 
day after my arrival, a man came from a school district 
five miles off, to engage my brother — some years older 
than myself — to teach the winter school in Maiyland 



14 REMINISCENCES OF 

district. "You have come too late," said my father ; 
ik my son went off yesterday to Boston, to attend the 
medical lectures." " But who is this tall fellow? Why 
can't he come?" "He is a boy, only sixteen years 
old, who has come home from college to spend his vaca- 
tion." It was, however, soon agreed that I should go 
and teach the school ; and on Monday morning I went, 
in my father's sleigh, to Maryland Heights, where I 
taught, or rather very satisfactorily kept, a school of 
about twenty pupils, of both sexes, and all ages between 
four and twenty, for eight or nine weeks, the usual 
length of the term. I boarded with an old sea-captain, 
retired from service, whose maiden sister of forty years 
or more, unable to walk, had passed her time in care- 
fully reading some of the best books in our language.' 
Her favorites were Addison and Milton, about whose 
works she was always delighted to talk ; and I have 
often recalled her observations upon striking passages 
in " Paradise Lost" as among the best and most deli- 
cate criticisms that have ever come to my knowledge. 
My boarding constantly with Captain Hatch was an 
experiment. Always before, the school-master had 
"boarded round," a week with each substantial house- 
holder in the district. A pleasant relic of this custom 
was that the school-master should sup with some one 
family, with each in turn, every week during the term. 
The supper was very good, — as good as the resources 
of the farms and forests and streams could furnish. 
It was always early, and was followed by dancing and 
games, frolic and fun, continued to a very late hour. 
It was sometimes eleven o'clock before I reached home 
at Captain Hatch's. 



AN OLD TEACHER, 25 

It was the fashion in those days for some good scholar 
to test the capacity of the teacher by offering some very 
difficult questions in arithmetic ; and in the course of 
the first week, a very bright fellow, nineteen or twenty 
years old, was authorized to puzzle me. He brought a 
question which was really a very hard one, as merely an 
arithmetical question ; but I had learned something of 
geometry, and this question depended upon a proposi- 
tion of Euclid. I saw into it at once, and showed him 
not only how he might solve that question, but several 
others depending upon the same theorem. I was tried 
no more. On the contrary, I had a perfectly pleasant 
school from beginning to end, — not a harsh word nor a 
disrespectful look. 

During the winter of the Sophomore year, I was not 
well enough to teach; but in the Junior year I was 
persuaded to supply the place of a much older man, in 
a school in Saco, ten miles from my father's. It was 
made up of the sons and daughters of saw-millers on 
Saco Falls, who kept the mills going, night and day. 
The girls were always well disposed, and gave me no 
trouble; but their brothers, taking after fathers who 
were almost always profane and unprincipled drunk- 
ards, were as impudent and stubborn as boys could be. 
I had, for the only time in my life, to depend upon the 
ferule and other implements of brute force. It was 
only when they found that I was fearless, and resolved, 
at any cost, to' be master, that they submitted. It was 
with as great pleasure, for a moment, as I ever felt, 
that, sitting at breakfast one Monday morning, on my 
return from my father's, where I always spent Sunday, 
I was surprised by a sudden light, and looking back, 



16 REMINISCENCES OF 

saw from the window the ruinous old school-house in 
flames. 

In the Senior year I kept, as many other fellow-col- 
legians did, a school in the country for ten or twelve 
weeks. My school was at Bolton, and was superin- 
tended b} T the minister of the town, the excellent Father 
Allen. The parents of nearly all the pupils were farm- 
ers, well-behaved and respectable people, whose chil- 
dren never gave me the least trouble, but made very 
surprising progress in all the branches then commonly 
taught in the country schools, — reading, spelling, arith- 
metic, and geography. 

Several of my college friends taught in the same town, 
all of whom took respectable positions in after life ; 
and we had some very pleasant evening meetings at 
Mr. Allen's, and in the houses of other hospitable gen- 
tlemen. By their frequent conversation with me, some 
of the young ladies acquired a taste for reading valuable 
books. 

To this residence in Bolton I often look back with 
great pleasure. My boarding-house was very near the 
school, and at noon I always had half an hour to nryself 
every day. Many of these half-hours I devoted to 
committing to memory lines in Greek, and always found 
I could learn, eveiy da} T , thirty lines of the Iliad. I 
thus found that I had a good memory ; I suppose that, 
if I had continued thus to exercise it daily, I might have 
retained it till now. But, for three years from that 
winter, the state of m}^ e} T es was such that I could not 
use them at all; and when those years were passed, I 
found my memory poor. 



AN OLD TEACHER. y\ 



CHAPTER IV. 

AFTER the spring vacation in 1814, I went back 
to college. Everything began as usual. One 
evening I returned from a pleasant visit to some 
newly made acquaintances, and was accosted by my 
room-mate, Joseph H. Jones, with whom I had been 
reading Lord Teignmouth's " Life of Sir William Jones," 
" Chum, Sir William says that to sleep more than 
four hours in one night is being an ox." " Well," 
said I, " I do not wish to be an ox, though I have a 
great respect for that animal. Shall we try the four- 
hour plan?" " Yes, and begin it this very evening." 
" But how about waking, after the four hours' sleep? " 
" To-morrow's pra3 T er-bell will wake us at six. We 
may study till two o'clock every night ; and to save 
our e3 T es somewhat, read alternately, aloud, for the last 
two hours, some pleasant book in English." I trusted 
in Jones, but I have no doubt he was mistaken, espe- 
cially when I call to mind those genial and inspiring 
lines of Sir William : — 

" Six hours to law, to soothing slumber seven, 
Four to the world allot, and all to heaven." 

So it was agreed. I sat down immediately to study 
Greek. The class had been reading the Anabasis. I 
liked it, and found it very easy, and instantly deter- 



18 REMINISCENCES OF 

mined to read the whole of it. As I went on, it became 
easier and easier, and I found that the meaning in the 
lexicon, for a new word, was almost always very nearly 
what I had suspected on reading it. This happened so 
frequently that, before finishing the first volume, it 
occurred to me that I might read without the lexicon, 
just as the Greek boys must have done, long before 
lexicon or grammar was invented. This I did, having 
the lexicon by me, but using it only for such words as 
parasang (a measure of distance), or some entirely 
new word. I finished the Anabasis and the Cj'ropsedia, 
and then the History of Greece, and some other works 
of Xenophon. I now felt confident I was pursuing the 
right course. We all read our English books in this 
way, and French and Italian when we have made a 
little progress. Nearly all the reading in the world 
must be without a dictionary. 

When I was satisfied with Xenophon, I read Herod- 
otus through in the same manner, and all that is to be 
found of Hesiod, and all I could find of Anacreon. I 
also read some Latin books, — the Letters of Pliny the 
Younger, and some of the charming philosophical works 
of Cicero. While doing this I never neglected my reg- 
ular lessons, but learned them more thoroughly 'than 
ever ; Jones did the same ; so that we rose, in the 
opinion of our classmates and tutors, from a low to a 
respectably high place in the class. 

We had pursued this course many weeks, agreeing to 
take at least half an hour's exercise in the pleasantest 
part of the daj T , and to be careful not to eat too much, 
when I was surprised by a pain in the left side. As I 
was a country doctor's son, and had often made blister- 



AN OLD TEACHER. 19 

ing plasters, and knew how to apply them and wiry, I 
went to the apothecary's and got one to apply to my 
own side. The relief was immediate, but not lasting. 
A pain came next in nry right side. Another blister 
had only quite a temporary effect ; so I applied another 
to the middle of nry chest. This had only the effect of 
multiplying the pain, which now seized upon almost 
ever}' part of my bod}^, and I felt myself seriously ill. I 
went to the president to ask leave of absence. Dr. 
Kirkland seemed always to know what was going on. 
" So, Emerson," he said, in his paternal manner, " }^our 
plan has not succeeded. I was afraid it would be so. 
I am sony. You are seriously ill, and had better go 
home to your father as soon as possible." 

My chum was affected as seriously, but very differ- 
ently. His head was drawn down by a severe pain in 
his neck, from which he never entirely recovered. He 
was taken home to the house of a sister of one of our 
classmates (Francis Jenks) , and treated as kindly and 
anxiously as if she had been his own sister. 

I went immediately into Boston, and, at the end of 
Long Wharf, went on board a coaster commanded by a 
friend, who was soon to sail. I immediately went down 
into the cabin, turned into a berth, and fell asleep. 
Early in the night the sea became rough, and the toss- 
ing of the vessel threw me into a most hideous dream. 

We landed next morning at Kennebunk Harbor, from 
which I soon found a conveyance to my father's house. 
The kind old man, as soon as he understood my case, 
began by congratulating me upon my escape. " Why 
did 3 t ou not tell me what experiment you were going to 
make ? I could have told you how it would end." 



20 REMINISCENCES OF 

As soon as I was well enough, which was after not 
many days, I was mounted on an easy horse, one of 
my former friends, and kept riding almost ever} T da} T for 
three months. I rode over all the good and pleasant 
roads and some of the bad ones, in almost eveiy part 
of the county. I visited nearly all the towns ; rode by 
the oldest roads, those nearest the sea, on the marine 
border of Wells and York and Kittery, to Portsmouth. 
Thence across the Piscataqua to my grandfather's 
hospitable house in York. Thence to the top of Aga- 
menticus, the highest hill in the county, commanding 
Portsmouth and all the hills and most of the towns in 
the county, and a noted landmark for sailors far out 
at sea. Thence to Berwick, where I had a delightful 
visit at a cousin's, and going thence, the next morning, 
saw abundant evidence, in the impassableness of the 
roads from the fall of maivv tall old trees, of the vio- 
lence of the great gale of 1814. 

Three months of such travelling, five or six hours 
every day in the week, in pleasant weather, in sunshine 
and pure air, through variegated and charming scen- 
ery, hills, rivers, the seaside, woods, old forests full of 
trees, and open cultivated plains, by farms and gardens, 
rendered me fit to return safety to my studies at col- 
lege. Only one thing made me seriously regret having 
been absent from college. This was my failing to 
sympathize with my friend, S. J. May, in his success, 
new for a freshman, in getting the first prize for a dis- 
sertation. But this I did not learn till I saw him, on 
my return to Cambridge. 

My father said it was now safe for me to go back, on 
condition that I would not aim at being a first-rate 



AN OLD TEACHER. 21 

scholar, but that I should get my lessons faitkfullj', and 
spend much of my time in reading pleasant and amus- 
ing books. " Such as what, father?" " Don Quixote, 
and after that, anything else you can find equally 
good." So I went back under orders to read Don 
Quixote ; which I did, but did not succeed in finding 
anything else equally good. An excellent substitute I 
found in Scott's novels, which I read with delight as 
they came out, and which I would recommend to others, 
even now, as better than almost any thing that has come 
since. I confess that I have not read all nor one fifth 
part of the novels that have succeeded ; I only speak of 
what I have read, which are those that have been most 
commended. 

I enjoyed myself in college as much as an}' person 
could. The friendships I formed there have had the 
happiest effect upon mj 7 life, which would have been a 
very different and a much poorer thing without them. 
There are a thousand things which it would be pleas- 
ant to commemorate, but there is one only which I wish 
to dwell upon. Half a dozen good friends, lovers of 
study, agreed to spend together, at Cambridge, the va- 
cation at the end of the Junior year, to study certain 
things we had had no opportunity to learn in the col- 
lege course. We agreed to breakfast together, then 
to separate and pursue such occupations as we pleased 
till dinner-time ; then to dine, and together go on with 
such studies as we pleased, and after tea to study the 
constellations, which we had had no opportunity to 
learn in college. 

Caleb Cushing, now our minister in Spain, and my- 
self agreed to spend our afternoons together in looking 



22 REMINISCENCES OF 

up the plants to be found in Cambridge. This we did 
very satisfactorily, and matured tastes which we have 
both since gratified. 

We furnished ourselves with celestial globes and 
lamps, and studied night after night, until we knew all 
the constellations that were visible in the evening at 
that season of the j^ear. No study I pursued in col- 
lege has given me so much real satisfaction as this. I 
never see one of those constellations without experien- 
cing a pleasure which no other object in nature gives 
me. I rejoice to know that in some of the best schools 
in Boston this stud}' has ahead} 1- been introduced. 
Ever} r person, tolerably well educated, should know the 
constellations. 

Our Senior year was a pleasant one. I learned with 
ease all the lessons required, and thus had time for vol- 
untary studies. I went on with my Greek, and read, in 
the course of the year, all of Homer except the last 
book of the Octysse}'. In the winter vacation, at my 
boarding-house in Bolton, which was near the school, 
I repeatedly committed to memory thirty lines of 
Homer in thirt} T minutes. I mention this to record 
the shameful fact that, from neglecting fairly to use my 
memory for four or five years from that time, I lost it 
almost entirely, and it has, ever since been a poor one. 
I have never known a person whose memory continued 
to be good, and even to improve in ripe age, who did 
not habitually exercise it, on poetry or something other 
than the poor affairs and business of daily life. 

In the course of that Senior year I gradually forgot 
my father's caution, and took again too much to study, 
often continued till late at night, until I waked one 



AN OLD TEACHER. 23 

morning with pain in my e}'es, which I soon found 
would make it impossible to read more than an hour or 
two a da} T . My only consolation was that it gave me 
time to mature m} T acquaintance with my college friends : 
for the most important of the man}' advantages of a 
college education is the opportunity of becoming well 
acquainted with persons of one's own age, and of form- 
ing intimacies with the best and most congenial. Many 
of my very best friends have been my classmates, with 
several of whom I continued intimate as long as they 
lived ; and now two of the very dearest friends I have 
are friends of more than sixty years. 



24 REMINISCENCES OF 



CHAPTER V. 

I GRADUATED at Harvard College in 1817, and 
went, immediately after my recovery from an illness 
which almost overpowered me on Commencement day, 
home to my father's in Wells. 1 had lived economi- 
cally, but was indebted for about one-fourth part of my 
college expenses, so that I felt somewhat anxious. My 
father had always had extensive practice, but it was 
among families most of whom were poor. My brother 
and I often urged him, when we were posting up his 
accounts, to send bills to those who were most and had 
been longest in debt to him. But he always made 
answer, " They are poor ; when the} r can afford it the} 7 
will pay. Meanwhile they will bring us wood and hay, 
and other products of their farm or their fishing." 

I had been at home two days when a letter came 
from Dr. Kirkland, offering me the place of master in 
an excellent private school in Lancaster, established by 
several most respectable men, with a salaiy of $500 a 
year. This was then a large salary, and I thankfully 
accepted the offer, which relieved me from all anxiety. 

I went immediately to Cambridge to see Dr. Kirk- 
land, and from him to Bolton, to Mr. Stephen Higgin- 
son, and to Lancaster to Rev. Dr. Tha3~er,who became, 
and always continued, my excellent friends. 



AN OLD TEACHER. 25 

The school had been limited to twenty-five pupils, 
who paid, each, five dollars a quarter. I had not been 
at work more than five or six weeks before the discovery 
was made, or was thought to be made, that I had uncom- 
mon skill as a teacher and as a manager of boys, and 
men came from the neighboring towns begging that 
their boys might be admitted, so that, before the end 
of the second quarter, there were forty-two pupils, as 
many as the house could hold. The conductors of the 
school, in their generosity, saw fit to increase the price 
of tuition twenty-five per cent, so that my pay was 
more than twice as much as they had offered, and my 
indebtedness soon ceased. 

My eyes were so poor that I could not look into a 
Greek book or a Latin; but my knowledge of both 
languages was such that this was not necessary, and I 
had only to make the boys read distinctly, and loud 
enough for me to hear with ease. The discipline in my 
school, though such as was common in those days, was 
bad in every respect. I kept a switch and a ferule, and 
used them both, often feeling, as I did so, like a malig- 
nant spirit, and sometimes acting in an evil spirit. I 
have many times wished that I could ask the pardon 
of one boy whom I had punished unjustly and in pas- 
sion. But he never came to see me, and I have no 
doubt he retained, perhaps always, a righteous grudge 
against me. I had a head to every class, and urged my 
boys to strive to reach and to retain it, by medals and 
commendation, — medals for daily ornament, and medals 
for permanent holding. So far as I knew, nobody ob- 
jected to the punishments or to the rewards. I had, 
occasionally, my own scruples and doubts in regard to 



2(3 REMINISCENCES OF 

both. It is a melancholy fact that, notwithstanding 
these objections, my school was considered as, on the 
whole, very kindly and well managed. I certainly was 
reasonable and kind toward all nry good bo} T s, and the 
two youngest of them all, whom I now meet every week, 
have always been and are among my best and kindest 
friends. 

Many of mx bo} T s were from Boston, and boarded in 
families where no control over them was even at- 
tempted. I saw the evil of this state of things, and 
wrote to the parents, proposing, if I should be sus- 
tained, to hire a large house, and get a respectable 
family, and take all the bo} T s with me to it, so that I 
might have them all near me, and maintain a con- 
stant oversight of them. This plan was approved and 
carried into execution, to the manifest benefit of some 
of the bo} T s. I rejoiced, and was thus rewarded for the 
increased care. But I gradually, without suspecting 
why, lost m} T vigorous health and my spirits, which I 
endeavored to retain by buj-ing a horse and riding every 
day before breakfast. The country is veiy variegated 
and pleasant, with hills and forests and little lakes, and 
the beautiful Nashua winding among the cultivated 
fields and Wachuset rising up behind them in the west, 
so that riding was very pleasant. The elms and hick- 
ories of Lancaster are finer, I have always been inclined 
to think, than those I have seen in any other part of 
Massachusetts ; the native willows on the banks of the 
Nashua are larger than I have found elsewhere, and 
the sugar-maples along some of the roads are not less 
promising and beautiful. 

I had, to sustain me, many very kind friends. I can 



AN OLD TEACHER. 27 

never forget the wise and paternal advice and care of 
Dr. Thayer, the never-failing kindness of all the family 
of Mr. Higginson, and the almost motherly affection of 
Mrs. R. J. Cleveland, who, with her sisters, lived very 
near my school, so that I could and did visit them at 
all hours of the day and evening. This generous 
friendship lasted to the end of the lives of Mrs. Cleve- 
land and her husband, and so far, through the lives of 
their children, and has been a blessing to me always. 
I accepted every invitation from the kind people of 
Lancaster, and enjoyed their little parties, especially 
dancing, of which I was very fond ; and once I rode, 
for that enjoyment, to Leominster, danced all the even- 
ing, and came home at an early hour next morning. 

I continued, for two years, successful and prosperous, 
so as to be able to begin the education, in my own 
school, of my two younger brothers. "My daily exercise 
on horseback sustained me, but could not make me well, 
so that I was continually growing weaker and sadder. 
At the beginning of a vacation, after I had sent all the 
boys home, I mounted my horse, one Monday morning, 
with a feeling that I might possibly reach home by 
the end of the week, and so spend my last da} T s with 
my parents. I trotted slowly along, but turned round 
on a hill in Harvard and bade a last, silent farewell to 
Lancaster, so much endeared to me, and then slowly 
pursued my journey, hoping to reach Groton and spend 
the night. I did reach it before dinner-time, feeling 
better than I had for months, with my anxieties all 
nearly gone. I stopped at a comfortable inn, had my 
horse cared for, took a good dinner and a comfortable 
nap, and awoke fresh, hopeful, and surprisingly strong, 



28 REMINISCENCES OF 

so that I presently resolved to go on. I grew stronger 
ever}^ hour, and I was able to reach home in three 
da3's, instead of six, feeling and looking so well that no 
one suspected me of having been otherwise. 

I continued my pleasant work at Lancaster for two 
years, at the end of which I received a letter from Pres- 
ident Kirkland, inviting me to become a tutor in the 
Mathematical Department in Harvard College. At the 
same time a letter came from the President to Dr. 
Tha} T er, informing him that a senior, Solomon P. Miles, 
whom he could recommend highly in every respect, 
might be persuaded to take m} r place. The arrange- 
ment was easily made : Mr. Miles came to Lancaster, I 
bade farewell to nry good friends there, and rode on 
my own horse to Cambridge. 1 had become fond of 
the animal, and had my pocket full of mone}', — was 
richer, indeed, in feeling, than I have ever been since. 

All the time I was at Lancaster, I daily regretted the 
sad state of my eyes, and submitted, in vain, to all 
kinds of remedies. I was unable to read, which I 
should have done eveiy night for three or four hours. 
If I had been able to do so, the additional labor would 
undoubtedly have quite destroyed my health ; so that 
the apparent affliction was realty my salvation. Besides, 
the apparent loss in book-learning was more than com- 
pensated by the knowledge gained of human character, 
in its highest and best as well as its ordinary forms. 



AN OLD TEACHER. 29 



CHAPTER VI. 

MY residence at Cambridge was very pleasant. 
President Kirkland was one of the kindest, most 
agreeable, and benignant persons in the world. Pro- 
fessor Farrar, head of the Mathematical Department, 
had all the qualities which command the respect and 
affection of students, so that he was a universal favor- 
ite. He was always very kind to me, and we took 
many pleasant rides together. Professor Frisbie, pro- 
fessor of Latin, was a most amiable man of great sense 
and deep thought, and an excellent scholar. His eyes 
were so poor that he could not use them, and he com- 
monly sat in the recitation-room with a LcrH kerchief 
drawn over them. He seldom interrupted a poor 
scholar, except for some egregious blunder ; but while 
a good scholar was translating, and failed to give the 
best word, he threw it to him instantly. One of the 
best Latin scholars, a tutor in Latin when I was there, 
and afterwards professor, told me that these interjected 
words did him more good than any other instruction he 
ever received. 

Dr. Hedge, professor of logic and metaphysics, was 
a kindly, pleasant gentleman. The elder Rev. Dr. 
Henry Ware was a sort of grandfather to all of us 
younger teachers, and to all most pleasant and genial. 



30 REMINISCENCES OF 

Mr. Caleb dishing came soon to join us, as tutor in 
mathematics ; and not long after, Edward Everett 
came, as professor of the Greek language and litera- 
ture, and George Ticknor, as lecturer on French litera- 
ture. These were all most agreeable gentlemen to be 
associated with. Rev. Mr. Norton, who had been 
librarian, was professor in the Theological School. 
His e3'es were, like mine, such as not to allow him the 
use of books by night, and I called at his room one 
evening, hoping not to find myself an intruder. He 
received me most graciously, and invited me to come 
again, and often. He was one of the best thinkers I 
have ever known, and although he spoke very slowly 
in conversation, I often left him with a feeling that I 
had learned more than I ever learned in the same space 
of time from an} T other person. I still considered my- 
self a teacher, and, guided by his opinion, I read, as far 
as my eyes would permit, eveiything that was desirable 
for a person seeking to find out how to teach well. I 
read wi+L admiration Milton's tractate on " the reform- 
ing of education, one of the greatest and noblest designs 
that can be thought on, and for want thereof, this 
nation perishes," — our own as well as Milton's ; and I 
got some real instruction from Roger Ascham, gathered, 
like wheat, from a large mass of chaff. 

The serious, religious conversation of Mr. Norton 
led me gradually to compare the course I had pursued 
as a teacher with the course which, as a Christian 
teacher, I ought to have pursued. On thinking upon 
the subject, I more and more confidently came to the 
conclusion that exciting the emulation of children was 
heathenish, respectable in Cicero, but not to be toler- 



AN OLD TEACHER. 31 

ated in one who accepted the doctrine of Paul, — "in 
honor preferring one another " ; that inflicting cruel 
bodilj' pain on a child was savage and almost brutal ; 
and that, if I ever again should have the management 
of boys confided to me, I should avoid both. 

I enjoyed hearing, occasionally, Edward Everett's 
most eloquent lectures and his charming conversation. 
My own engagements, as a teacher, prevented nry hear- 
ing Mr. 'licknor's lectures except very rarefy. He 
sometimes called at my room when he had, driving 
from Boston, reached Cambridge early, and he often 
called there after his lecture, and met students in law, 
and other residents who were attracted by his reputa- 
tion and by his courteous manners and instructive 
and agreeable conversation. I became somewhat inti- 
mate with him, went often to his father's house in Bos- 
ton, and thus formed an acquaintance which was one of 
the blessings of m} T life, as it continued to the end of 
his. Every one may now learn how valuable such a 
friendship was by reading his " Life, Letters, and Jour- 
nals," which have just issued from the press, and which 
give rife-like pictures of a greater number of distin- 
guished persons in this country, and in many parts of 
Europe, than any book which has been published in our 
time. With Mr. Edward Everett I became much 
more intimate. He and Mr. Gushing and myself were 
much 3*ounger than the other members of the college 
government, and often went out to walk and exerci&e 
together. The house he occupied had a large garden, 
surrounded by a wall high enough to protect those 
within from the students' eyes ; and we often went 
there at noon to take exercise which we did not wish to 



32 REMINISCENCES OF 

exhibit. Within the garden was an unoccupied barn, 
which served as a place of refuge in rahxy weather. I 
have still several notes of that time from Mr. Everett, 
which say only, " On saute a midi." 

During this period I was tutor in mathematics and 
natural philosophy. I was very fond of both, and as I 
had studied them well in college, I found no necessity 
of much preparation for hearing lessons in them. As 
to teaching, I attempted nothing of the kind, except that 
I sometimes drew figures on the wall, to point out an 
application. In the department, much most excellent 
teaching was given by Professor Farrar, whose lectures 
on natural philosophy and astronomy I have never 
known surpassed or equalled. I have seen, da} r after 
day, a whole class so charmed by one of his lectures 
as to forget the approach of the Commons hour, and to 
leave, with reluctance, to go to dinner, though the lec- 
ture had gone more than half an hour beyond the time 
allotted to it. When, some years later, an attempt 
was made to change the course of things, in conse- 
quence of the want of teaching in the college, Mr. Far- 
rar alone said he did not see the necessity of a change ; 
and so far as his own department was concerned, 
there was no necessnrv. He gave as much of actual 
teaching as is often given, even now, in any depart- 
ment in any college. If the same had been done in 
every department, little change could have been thought 
necessary. 

One of the greatest advantages of my residence in 
Cambridge was the kindness I received from Dr. N. 
Bowditch, the great American mathematician. He was 
a member of the corporation, and, seeing the interest 



AN OLD TEACHER. 33 

I took in teaching, or rather hearing lessons, in that 
department, he invited me to come and see him at 
Salem. I gladly accepted the invitation, and enjoj T ed, 
very greatly, more than one visit. He perceived the 
difficulties I had with nry eyes, and once told me that, 
at about m} T age, he had suffered in the same wa} T , trying 
doctors and their prescriptions in vain ; but it occurred 
to him that the e} T e was made for the light, and light 
for the e3'e, and that, when he went out, he ought to 
take the sunniest side of the street, and not the shady 
side ; and that the irritation in his eyes might be 
allayed by the application of cold water. He tried 
that, opening his eyes in cold water, first in the morn- 
ing and last at night, and whenever they seemed to 
need it, and continuing the act till the irritation was 
gone. In a few weeks his eyes were well, and had so 
continued all his life. I tried the experiments, in every 
particular, and in a few weeks my eyes were perfectly 
well, and have so continued up to this day. They 
would not bear, however, the looking into blazes or 
red-hot bottles or crucibles, and I was obliged to forego 
the advantage I hoped to gain, in the stucty of chem- 
istr} T , by going every day into the laboratory of Dr. 
Gorham, who was then giving lectures on that science. 
I was ver} r much interested in mathematics, and 
when it became necessaiy for Professor Farrar to go to 
the Azores, on account of the health of his wife, I un- 
dertook to go on with the translation of a French work 
on the Calculus, and get it ready for the press. This I 
did, and had it printed, with my introduction and notes, 
so that, when Mr. Farrar returned, he found it ready 
for use of the college. He was agreeably surprised 
3 



34 REMINISCENCES OF 

and highly gratified, and almost immediately urged me 
to remain in college, and become professor in mathe- 
matics. " The work I have to do in astronomy and 
natural philosophy," he said, "is enough for one per- 
son, and I delight in them, and shall be glad to con- 
tinue to teach them ; but I do not like nor understand 
mathematics as you do. This department will necessa- 
rily be divided very soon : wh} T not consent to stay 
here as professor of mathematics?" I was naturally 
much gratified, but was not prepared to embrace his 
offer, although very kindly seconded by President 
Kirkland. 

I enjoyed my life at college very heartily. There 
was always a meeting, eve^ Sunday evening, at the 
president's, at which Dr. Popkin, Mr. Brazer, tutor, 
and afterwards professor of Latin, and some others 
were sometimes present ; and alwaj^s Mr. Everett, Mr. 
Gushing, and nryself. Mr. Farrar and his wife, who 
had been Miss Buckminster, kept the president's house, 
and were alwa} r s present when she was well ; usually a 
niece of the president, and, almost always, Mrs. Farrar' s 
three sisters. These were far the most pleasant and 
really the most brilliant parties I have ever attended. 
Mr. Everett was alwa} T s full of fun and pleasant stories 
and anecdotes ; Mr. Gushing often gave a foretaste 
of the brilliant powers which he afterward exhibited in 
other scenes ; and the pre-eminent talents of the Buck- 
minsters gracefully showed themselves in their natural 
light. We 3 T oung people usually grouped ourselves in 
a corner round Mr. Everett, who alwa} T s, when he saw 
the door of the study open, stilled us instantly with, 
" Hush now ! the president is coming." 



AN OLD TEACHER. 35 

It was not pleasant to think of quitting these occu- 
pations and scenes, but as often as I reflected, after an 
evening with Mr. Norton, on what ought to be the gov- 
ernment and teaching of a school, among Christians, I 
felt inclined, and at last resolved, that if an opportunity 
should offer, I would myself try what could be done by 
one possessed of this idea. Such an opportunity soon 
presented itself. 'Looking over the Sentinel, I found an 
advertisement to this effect : ' ' Whoever wishes to be a 
candidate for the place of master of the English Clas- 
sical School, about to be established, will apply to the 
committee," — giving the names of some of the indi- 
viduals. 

In the autumn vacation of 1820 a party of us pro- 
posed to visit the White Mountains, in New Hampshire. 
This party consisted of Wm Ware, of the class of 1816, 
and J. Coolidge, C. Cushing, S. J. Ma}', S. E. Sewall, 
and myself, of 1817. We were to meet in Kennebunk, 
at ni3 T father's, and thence proceed, on such horses and 
in such conve3 T ances as could be procured, to the moun- 
tains. 

We accordingly met there, and on the very next 
morning, accompanied by J. E. Moody, set off, and 
travelled through Limeric, Waterboro', Broomfield, El- 
lenwood Bend, Parsonsfield, to Mrs. McMillan's, at 
Conway. 

Our road still lay along the river, which was always 
to be heard dashing in foam over the rocks that form its 
bed. The hills sometimes receded, leaving rich green 
intervales, which were here and there cultivated, and 
sometimes adorned with a peasant's cottage. At other 
places the hills approached the stream, and left only 



36 REMINISCENCES OF 

space for a narrow road by its side. At one place the 
way had been entirely formed along the base of cliff 
that had projected into the river, and which still hung 
beetling over the traveller as he passed. 

It was nearly dark when we arrived at the house of 
Crawford, the guide to the mountains. We found that 
our companions had reached this house soon enough to 
avoid most of the rain, b} T which we had found ourselves 
completely drenched. In the evening, seated round a 
large fire, we made our arrangements to ascend, if the 
weather should permit, the mountains to-morrow. Mrs. 
Crawford was busily employed in cooking provisions, 
and we not less busily in hoping for fair weather. The 
morning of Thursday proved fair, and, as our guide 
could not get ready till late in the forenoon, the individ- 
uals of our party were engaged in amusing themselves 
as the taste of each inclined. Some of us climbed 
the neighboring hills, some went to shoot pigeons, 
others strolled along the river, and nearly all, at one 
time or other, endeavored to sketch some of the grand 
and novel views this place presented. 

Towards noon preparations were ended, and we set 
off for the Notch. Several of us were mounted on 
horseback, and the other, with our guide, drove on in a 
wagon. We were hemmed in bj' mountains whose ridges 
extended parallel to the river, here and there divided or 
receding, to admit the tributary streams. The} T usually 
rose precipitously from the banks, and seemed to pre- 
sent, as we advanced, continually more and more grand 
and interesting scenery. Sometimes the mountains 
retired to a distance from each other, and the river, 
which usually dashed with tumult and impetuosity over 



AN OLD TEACHER. 37 

a roclrrbed, meandered more gently and silently through 
the intervale, and the tall trees which grew on its banks 
bent over the road, excluding every distant object, and 
presented, by the deep gloom they produced, a strong 
contrast to the light and elevation of all we had just 
been viewing. 

It seemed a calm, delightful retirement, as would a 
sequestered scene of domestic life to one who had been 
long toiling in the rough and cheerless paths of business 
or ambition. After wending awhile through this still, 
twilight woods, and allowing us to enjo} T its shade and 
seclusion, the road brought us again into the midst of 
views of rocks and mountains ; and as we emerged from 
the thicket the beauty of each object seemed to be 
increased, and the effects of distance and grandeur 
heightened by their having been for a time concealed 
from our view. We were particularly struck with the 
ruggedness of a long, high hill which towered up on our 
right. 

Between the road and its base roared the Saco. Its 
side was composed of large round stones, piled so loose- 
ly on each other that it seemed as if a footstep would 
have displaced and precipitated them into the river 
and plain below. Above, all was lonely and bare, save 
that the summit was crowned with a few scathed old 
trees, which distance diminished to the size of a school- 
boy's staff. Toward the upper end of this valley a 
solitan- house looked out upon the bleakest and most 
desolate spot that peasant ever chose for his habitation. 
This was the last house, and here we were obliged to 
leave our horses, and travel the rest of the way on foot. 
The road was rough and ascending, but the rocks and 



38 REMINISCENCES OF 

torrents too much interested oor attention to suffer ns 
to think of or feel its weari somen ess. 

The mountains on each hand approached nearer, and 
became more precipitous ; and far abore ns were seen 
the torrents glancing in the sun as the}^ dashed impetu- 
ously down the ravines or were poured over the rocks 
in their way to join the river. The river now dwindled 
to a brawling, shallow brook, which still has scarcely 
room for its passage, and even this is shared b} r the 
road, built on stones against the very side of a high 
and threatening precipice. This place is called the 
Notch, and seems to have been made by some convul- 
sion which rent the mountain and opened the passage 
for the waters of what was once a lake. From this 
place the road in each direction descends, and the 
mountains on every side rise. 

Here we were to leave the road, and here we rested 
and took some refreshment. As we were now to plunge 
into the woods, we arranged our baggage so as to be as 
little incommoded by it as possible. Each person was 
furnished with a blanket, and several of us had cloaks, 
against the night encampment on the mountain. These 
we made into a bundle and fastened on our shoulders, 
so as to have our arms at liberty. The guide carried 
the provisions, fire apparatus, and an axe, and I had 
a fowling-piece, to shoot at the game that might present 
itself; it was thought best that I should go first with 
the gun in nry hand, powder and shot slung under my 
arm, and a snug pack on my shoulders, so I led the way 
two or three rods in advance. We struck off directly into 
the thick woods, guided by the course of a brook that 
dashed down anions: the tall trees from one side of 






AN OLD TEACHER. 39 

the hill. This we crossed, clambered up the rugged 
opposing bank, over the trunks of windfall trees, and 
soon found ourselves in a rude path, which the guide 
had formed some weeks before by removing man}' of 
the fallen trees and cutting away some of the growing 
ones. The way was still, however, rugged and difficult 
enough, always ascending, sometimes winding about a 
ledge of rocks or clump of trees, too perpendicular or 
too close to be passed over or penetrated, and some- 
times leading us straight up a steep side, now compel- 
ling us to make a cautious and uncertain footing among 
the rocks, and now to mount over the prostrate trunks 
which had been left to serve as a ladder. As we 
ascended, the trees gradually diminished in size and 
height. The elms, oaks, and maples successively disap- 
peared, and no others were to be seen but evergreens, 
with here and there a stunted poplar or birch. 

Our spirits were fresh and high, and we were ani- 
mated with the aspiring and impatient feeling of young 
men and adventurers, but we were repeatedly obliged 
to stop and rest, before we reached our proposed place 
of encampment. This was a small plain among the 
woods, two thirds of the distance through the region of 
trees. Here we found a hut made like a hunter's lodge, 
previously built by the guide. It was formed by ex- 
tending a pole, ten or twelve feet long, horizontally 
from one tree to another, at the height of about six feet 
from the ground, from which inclined several others, 
with one end resting on the ground. On these were 
spread long pieces of hemlock-bark covered with 
branches of fir in the fashion of tiles, forming a very 
close covering. As we were in each other's way, and 



40 REMINISCENCES OF 

there were still some hours before dark, and the first 
round top, as the guide told us, was at less than a 
mile's distance, three of us, Coolidge, Sewall, and m}-- 
self, se' out to visit it. We were now relieved of our 
baggage, and of the guide and our tard} T companions. 
This, our expedition, was undertaken from pure curi- 
osity and love of exertion, and each of us valued him- 
self on his activity. I enjoyed a singular advantage 
from my early habits of climbing hills and roaming the 
woods, and my companions were not men lightly to 
confess themselves outdone. 

A distich* from one of Scott's poems, which all the 
scenery about had called up, and- which burst at once 
from two of us, awakened the burning emulation of the 
clansman, which every young spirit has felt, and we 
darted forward through the woods and up the side of 
the mountain. It was still steeper than before, but we 
were not in a mood to }ield to fatigue, and stopped not 
till we found ourselves meeting the perpendicular side 
of a rock overgrown with shrubs. Up this we soon 
scrambled, and sprang out upon a scene stranger and 
more wonderful than we had ever beheld or dreamed of 
before. It seemed as if that rock had lifted us into a 
new and vaster creation. The ground under our feet 
was covered with plants new and unknown, such as are 
found onty on the tops of mountains or in the inhos- 
pitable regions of the north ; and on all sides were the 
mountains, piled in rude and grand magnificence we had 
formed no conception of. Bej T ond us, at a distance, 
towered a proud, gray, naked peak which could not be 

* " Stung by such thoughts o'er bank and brae, 
Like fire from steel, he glanced away." 



AN OLD TEACHER. 41 

mistaken. About its sides rested a thousand hills, with 
their bare rocks and immense forests slumbering, it 
seemed, in the might}^ solitude and unbroken stillness 
of the birthday of creation. Nothing moved, but the 
thunder-clouds were mustering for a storm in the west, 
and the chill air admonished that night was already 
settling in the valleys. We returned with headlong 
rapidity, and found ourselves almost immediately at 
the encampment. As we were to stretch ourselves for 
the night on the floor of the lodge, we took care to 
strew it with fresh branches of fir, so arranged as to 
allow only the tops to be seen, and forming a dry and 
elastic bed. After having made a large fire directly 
before our hut, we took food, and, wrapped in our 
cloaks or blankets, stretched ourselves on the rustic bed 
for the night, and slept till the guide roused us to pur- 
sue our way. 

We were enveloped in a thick and chill}" fog, but, as 
the guide assured us it was no uncommon thing at that 
hour and that place, we had soon buckled on our bun- 
dles and were on the march. It seemed a wearisome 
length before we came to the same airy point to which 
some of us had before ascended ; and now the fog made 
it impossible to see a rod's distance, so that our eleva- 
tion only gave the cold and searching northwest wind, 
loaded as it was with mist, a fairer and more exposed 
object. We passed over the top of one round hill, and 
then descended into the hollow which separated it from 
the next, and which w r as covered with thick evergreens 
three or four feet high, and throwing out long and 
tough horizontal limbs, so firm as often to allow one to 
walk over their tops, and so thickly interwoven as to 



42 REMINISCENCES OF 

present an almost insurmountable obstacle to passing 
between them. Then another hill-top and another belt 
of dwarf firs. If. as the Indians used to think, a de- 
mon still possessed this dreary region, jealous of any 
inroads on his dominion, and who, besides stretching 
about him the deep and dark forests, at the foot, and 
above them the almost impenetrable barrier of stunted 
evergreens, was ready to arm the elements against the 
hardy wretch who should invade his consecrated realm, 
he had now almost effected his purpose ; for, weary 
of the toilsome march, penetrated to the skin by the 
fog, and shivering with cold from the raw mountain 
air, without any hope of seeing the sun or of being 
rewarded for the labors we had already undergone, as 
it was impossible to see two rods before us, we were 
almost tempted to turn back. Added to this, our guide 
discovered that he had lost his way. 

After finding our waj r back to the right path, we 
stopped in one of the hollows between the hills, under 
the wretched covert of the dwarf trees, and, with much 
difficulty, succeeded in kindling a fire and partially dry- 
ing ourselves. But there was nothing like comfort to 
be found here ; several suffered exceedingly from the 
cold. When we had been waiting two hours, and it 
was nine o'clock, the sun suddenly burst out upon us, 
and we immediately were on our way again. We now 
went on with the greatest alacrit}?- ; and it was not long 
before, having passed over several lower elevations, we 
found ourselves on the top of the high and beautiful 
round eminence which is called Mount Pleasant. The 
name is well deserved. It is just so high as to lift its 
top above the circle of vegetation, while it affords a 






AN OLD TEACHER. 43 

distant prospect of several cultivated valleys lying about 
their own streams. To the south is seen the spot occu- 
pied by the guide's house, which, though not less than 
nine or ten miles distant, in a line, is distinct ; and be- 
3'ond it are seen the scattered hamlets on the banks of 
the Saco. Far to the west can be descried the farms 
and houses on Amonoosuck, in Breton Wood ; and far- 
ther still, the settlements in Jefferson. 

In full view before us stood the object of our toil, the 
grand and solitar} r Mount Washington. At the bottom 
of the rocky vale between sparkled a little pond in its 
basin of rock, surrounded on three sides by hills, and 
on the fourth sending out a little rill, which is one source 
of the Amonoosuck. We waited on Mount Pleasant 
until our pai^ had all come up and rested themselves ; 
and then ran down the steep side, and were soon seated 
on the brink of the Punch-Bowl, as this little pond is 
called. 

A short but toilsome part of our labor remained : it 
was to cross the low hill between us and the foot of the 
mountain, and climb to its summit over the loose, bare 
stones. From the brink of the little lake, the ascent 
seemed easy and gentle, and as if a few short steps 
would bring us without labor to the top, but long, 
thick moss covered and concealed the form of the rocks 
of the little hill, and rendered our footing extremely 
uncertain ; so that many were the falls and bruises 
received before we reached the foot of Mount Washing- 
ton, and often did we have to stop to rest ourselves 
in our perilous path up the steep and sharp rocks, piled, 
as they were, loosely on each other ; for the torrents 
have carried away all the soil, and left the large stones 



44 REMINISCENCES OF 

entirely bare. Here and there, indeed, in the deep 
crevices, a little earth is left, and, in some places on 
the south side, protected by high rocks from the cutting 
gales, there are nooks where the sun rests, and beautiful 
flowers are seen springing up, and butterflies fluttering 
round them, and all looks and feels like summer. But 
mount the next crag, and the wind comes on you so 
cold, and the barrenness and desolation that meet jom 
are so entire, that j^ou can hardly persuade yourself that 
it is not winter. 

From the top, what a grand view ! Yet, the greatness 
comes on you by such slow degrees, that all the effect 
of surprise is lost, and there remains onl} T that solemn, 
silent thoughtfulness and admiration which are entirely 
removed from the warmth and fervor of mind which a 
sudden and unexpected grandeur produces. All here is 
magnificent indeed, but all is savage and wild and deso- 
late, as it was left by the hand of its Creator. Nothing 
at first strikes the eye but the bald, rocky peaks of 
mountains rising at intervals round the summit you 
stand on, and bared by the tempest of a thousand win- 
ters, and eternally preserving a wintry barrenness. A 
little lower, you see the tops of other hills, rough with 
the trunks of blasted trees ; and about and below all, 
the dark woods, deepening into a broad and monoto- 
nous ocean, broken only by the distant and unfrequent 
light reflected upwards from the surface of some solitary 
lake, or \$y the mountains that rise like islands amidst 
it. Nothing can exceed the sense of utter dreariness 
which takes possession of you when, throughout this 
boundless scene, you perceive not a vestige of the labor 
of man. 



AN OLD TEACHER. 45 

Though it was one o'clock, and a bright sun, we found 
the north side of the rock crusted with ice. It was 
bitterly cold, and the sharp northwest wind so chilled 
us as almost to deprive us of the use of our hands. 
AVe had no desire to remain in this place long, for the 
cold rendered it excessively uncomfortable, and the 
prospect was such as one need not desire long to dwell 
on. Entirely unlike anything I had ever seen, and 
made up of a few great features, it made such an im- 
pression that the picture, in all its bold outlines, is still, 
after more than fifty years, before me. The descent was 
almost without fatigue, though not without danger. To 
proceed rapidly it is necessary to spring down from rock 
to rock, and the impetus gained is such as to make it 
almost impossible sometimes to avoid the sharp rocks 
and precipices that suddenly present themselves. But 
reaching the foot, and passing along the west side of the 
little hill, we arrived safety on the borders of the pond. 

Mount Pleasant was directly in our waj T , but the side 
towards us was exceedingly steep, and though we found 
no difficulty in descending, we were unanimous in think- 
ing that we had had enough of climbing, for that day 
at least. So the guide undertook to lead us round the 
east side of the hill by a way which he knew, he said, 
but had not often travelled. This way we took, though 
it would be bold to say that we kept it, for we had 
to make a path for ourselves, leaping across deep clefts 
and over sloughs, and breaking through those tangled 
thickets just up to our shoulders, neither to be leaped 
over nor crept under, and climb along the side of preci- 
pices, holding on by the branches or roots of the strug- 
gling firs and birches, — places where there was not 



46 REMINISCENCES OF 

the least sign that mortal had ever been before ; and 
ever and anon we crossed the rich purple Jjeds of 
cranberries and cornel berries, so temptingly luxuriant 
that some of the weaker brethren could not resist, 
but would linger behind till the guide and his com- 
panions were out of sight, and so take a wrong path 
and get tangled in the thicket or suspended over a 
gulty. Finally, however, but not without many diffi- 
culties and more complaints, we got round Mount 
Pleasant. 

We now began to get among the lower and pleasanter 
hills. For these have their tops covered with the alpine 
plants which I mentioned, — objects of great curioshvy to 
us, admirers, as we professed to be, of the vegetable 
world, and one at least a scientific observer. Many 
of these were entirety new to us, and so different from 
the usual plants of the temperate climate that we 
have seldom had an entertainment of the kind more 
agreeable. 

Proceeding along a ridge of variable height, we occa- 
sionall}' caught a glimpse of scenes of peculiar beauty 
when the hills allowed us to look down on a cultivated 
spot by the borders of a lake or river, almost envel- 
oped, as they alwa} T s were, by the dark woods, and 
alwaj's seeming to be in the centre of an amphitheatre 
* of mountains. Stopping sometimes to gaze on such 
scenes, and stepping aside where we listed to indulge 
any idle curiosity, and resting ourselves when and 
where we chose, it was not long before we reached the 
last green top, the same which I had visited the even- 
ing before. Here we stopped again for all to come up. 

From the last round top there is a continual descent 



AN OLD TEACHER. 47 

through the woods to the Notch. It was but a short 
distance to our last night's encampment, and there 
three of our number, not caring to add to their fatigue, 
determined to remain for the ensuing night. Leaving 
the guide to keep up the fire and take charge of our 
wearied companions, four of us, Gushing, Sewall, 
Ware, and mj-self, resolved to go on to the Notch. 
The sun, even where we were, far up on the mountain, 
was scarcely half an hour high, and, in the valley, had 
already been some time set, and the path we had to 
travel was steep, crooked, narrow, and often obstructed 
b} T logs and rocks. We had no time to lose ; waiting 
but a moment, then, to arrange matters with our com- 
panions, we set off at a good travelling pace down the 
hill. But we soon saw this would not do ; the dark- 
ness at every step was evidently fast increasing. Our 
only alternative, then, was to proceed at a much brisker 
rate, or run the risk of spending the night on some 
bank or under some rock in the woods. Putting my- 
self again foremost, to avoid any danger from my fowl- 
ing-piece, we pressed forward with such rapidity as the 
road would admit. At first we sprang onward at a great 
rate with perfect safety ; but darkness gathered round 
us so fast that it soon became difficult to discern the 
path ; and often did I leap forward entirely uncertain 
what was before me, and only taking what seemed the 
path's most probable direction. I was usually fortu- 
nate, but three times I went headlong over logs or 
down slippery banks, and gained nothing by my falls 
but the pleasure or the power of warning m}- com- 
panions to avoid them ; and indeed they almost always 
did avoid them, taking care to venture a leap only 



48 



REMINISCENCES OF 



when the}' saw I came off safety. Thus we contrived 
to keep the path until we crossed the brook within a 
few rods of the road. Here it was too dark to distin- 
guish any traces of the way, but guiding ourselves by 
the noise of the brook, we soon emerged from the 
woods, not far from the place where we had entered 
them. We were only thirty-five minutes in accomplish- 
ing, in the twilight and dark, a descent which, by broad 
daylight, usually takes more than an hour. And 
right glad were we to see again the broad heavens and 
a plain road. 

We had still two miles and a half to walk to the 
house where we expected supper. We had the whole 
evening, and a fine one, too, to walk this distance, 
and felt, moreover, no such disposition for active 
bodily exertion as would allow us to be very scrupu- 
lous about a few minutes more or less which it might 
take up. There was, indeed, when it occurred to us 
how sparsely we had dined, and the generous allow- 
ance of exercise we had since indulged in, a secret 
monition that something like a supper might at no dis- 
tant time be far from unacceptable. Such thoughts, 
however, soon gave place to others more befitting the 
scene and the hour. We had reached the Notch. The 
towering cliffs on each side, garnished here and there 
by their own fir-trees, rested in bold relief on the star- 
lit sky ; behind us, in the western heavens, still glim- 
mered that faint blush of soft light which, whether the 
last rays of departing day or a gleam from the northern 
aurora, served to relieve the deep gloom of the dark 
valley before us, and into which we were entering; 
while the dash of the Saco from below us on our left, 



AN OLD TEACHER. 49 

as it fell over rocks, or chafed angrily against its pre- 
cipitous banks, came up and mingled and harmonized 
with the whole. 

As we walked slowly down this romantic valley we 
were frequently struck with a sparkle of light from 
among the rocks and woods, high up the mountain on 
our left. It appeared to be caused by the reflection of 
a bright planet from the smooth surface of some rock 
polished and moistened by the water which trickled 
over it, and looked like a star on the face of the moun- 
tain. Some such appearance as this probably gave rise 
to a tradition among the Indians, that somewhere on 
these mountains was a shining carbuncle, which hung 
ver} r high over a lake, and was guarded by an immense 
and hideous serpent, one of the same race, doubtless, 
which from time immemorial has had charge of all 
inestimable treasures. 

When we arrived at the lone house we were all most 
completely fatigued. We called for coffee and food of 
any kind, and comfortable beds as soon as they could 
possibly be made ready. The good woman seemed to 
have a feeling of true sj'mpathy for us. Whatever it 
was, she set herself about the business with the readiest 
alacrity, and by dint of the most admirable manage- 
ment, in bestirring herself and moving others, succeeded 
be} T ond our fondest expectations. He who remembers 
the da} T of his life when he was most hungry and at the 
same time most fatigued, may have some faint concep- 
tion of the deliciousness of our supper, the unutterable 
comfort of our repose. 

On the morrow, without waiting for the remainder of 
our companions, we mounted our horses and returned 
4 



50 REMINISCENCES OF 

to the guide's house, through that wild valley which is 
so beautiful that it is strange that all in New England 
who can afford it, and who admire sceneiy, should not 
go and visit it, and pass through the Notch at least, 
and the } r oung and vigorous ascend to the summit of 
the mountain. 






AN OLD TEACHER. $\ 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE plan of a school, to be called the English Classical 
School, was adopted by the school committee of the 
town of Boston, June 20, 1820, on the report of a subcom- 
mittee; of which A A. Wells, Esq., was chairman. At a town- 
meeting, Jan. 15, 1821, the plan was approved, only three in 
the negative. At a meeting of the school committee held 
Feb. 19, 1821, G. B. Emerson was unanimously chosen princi- 
pal, but final action was deferred till a meeting held March 
26, when the appointment was confirmed, and A. A. Wells, 
Rev. Charles Lowell, Rev. John Pierpont, Lemuel Shaw, Esq., 
and Benjamin Russell were chosen a committee on the Eng- 
lish Classical School. — Dr. Gould on the Schools of Boston. 

Having determined to be a candidate for the place 
of master of the English Classical School in Boston, I 
sought to get the expression from respectable persons 
of their belief in my competency to fulfil the duties of 
that place. President Kirkland and all the college pro- 
fessors gave me their names. The parents of many of 
my pupils at Lancaster kindly stated their favorable 
opinion, which was confirmed by good friends in Boston. 

I sent in my application, and very soon received from 
one of the committee the statement that I had been 
unanimously chosen. 

Mr. S. P. Miles accepted the invitation of Dr. Kirk- 
land to take my place in college, and as soon as I could 



52 REMINISCENCES OF 

I moved to Boston, and found a temporary home in a 
boarding-house. 

To m} T great satisfaction I found that an old friend of 
mine, Mr. Lemuel Shaw, afterwards chief justice, was 
on the committee, and I went to him to ascertain whether 
I should be allowed to teach and manage the school 
according to nry own ideas. He approved of them 
entirely, and said that, if I would make a short state- 
ment in writing of the course I wished to pursue, he 
would la} T it before the committee, and he had little 
doubt that it would be approved. This I did, and, on 
my next visit, he told me that the committee had passed 
a vote that, as I had been chosen unanimously, as a per- 
son full}' competent to fill the place, I should be allowed 
to manage it, in matters of instruction and discipline, 
according to my own views. 

Official notice in the newspapers soon brought to- 
gether in the Latin School-house, on School Street, all 
the bo3 T s who were desirous of admission to the Eng- 
lish Classical. An intimation from the committee that 
a leading object in the establishment of this school was 
to raise the standard in the grammar schools, rendered 
it nry duty to make the examination pretty thorough. 
Accordingly I carefull}" examined, in small divisions, 
for six hours every day for two weeks, the one hundred 
and thirty-five bo} T s who presented themselves, of whom 
I judged seventy-five to be admissible. 

The lower story of a school-house on Derne Street, 
on the spot now covered by the Reservoir, was prepared 
for the English Classical School, and on a Monday 
morning the seveinry-five bo}S were present. I spent 
half an hour or more, every morning of the first week, 



AN OLD TEACHER. 53 

in explaining, fully and clearly, the principles according 
to which I should manage and teach. I told them : — 

" I do not believe in the necessity of corporal pun- 
ishment, and I shall never strike a blow unless you 
compel me. I want you to learn to govern yourselves. 
I shall regard you and treat you all as young gentle- 
men, and expect you to consider me a gentleman, and 
treat me accordingly. 

" I shall alwa} r s believe every word you sa} r , until I 
find you guilty of lying, and then I cannot ; nobody be- 
lieves a liar, if he has any temptation to lie. 

" Never tell me anything to the disadvantage of any 
fellow-student. I mean to have strict rules, and to have 
them strictly obej'ed ; but I shall never make a rule 
which I would not more willingly see broken than I 
would have an}' one of } T ou violate what ought to be 
his feeling of honor toward a fellow-student. It is the 
meanest thing that any boy can do. 

' ' I have examined you very carefully, as you all 
know, and have taken every means of finding out your 
character and capacities, and 3'our opportunities. Some 
of you have enjoyed every advantage You have lived 
in pleasant homes, with intelligent and well-informed 
parents and friends, and } t ou have formed habits of 
reading good books, and being otherwise pleasantly 
and well employed. Others of }^ou have been blessed 
with none of these privileges, and have had no oppor- 
tunities of forming good habits. Now I am going to 
examine } T ou, for some weeks, carefully and severely, in 
a considerable variety of studies. I shall do this that 
I may arrange } t ou according to your attainments and 
capacities, so that no one may be kept back from doing 



54 REMINISCENCES OF 

what he is capable of, and that the slow and ill-prepared 
ma}* be fairly tried. 

" After I shall have ascertained, in this way, of what 
each of j'ou is capable, in all the studies, I shall, when 
I find that a dull boy has done his best, feel for him the 
same respect, and give him the same mark that I shall 
to the brightest boy in school who has only done his 
best. 

"I beg of you, boys, never to try to surpass each 
other. Help each other in every way you can. Try 
to surpass yourselves. Say, - I will do better to-day 
than I did yesterday, and I resolve to do better to-mor- 
row than I can do to-day.' In this way, }'ou who are 
highest and most capable will always, through life, be 
friends, and the best friends. But if you tr} T to surpass 
each other, some of you will inevitably be enemies."* 

I said this with a vivid remembrance of the bitter 
feelings entertained by individuals in several of the 
classes I had known in Cambridge, toward some of 
their classmates, who might have been, all their lives, 
their best friends, if this terribly ambitious desire of 
acknowledged superiority had not prevented. 

These principles of action, which I have here given 
in a few sentences, occupied half an hour or more, every 
morning, for the first week. I explained and enlarged 
till I felt sure that I was fully understood. 

When I told them I should alwaj T s believe them, I 
could not help seeing a generous resolution fixing itself 

* Of the correctness of this opinion, I have recently had 
most satisfactory evidence. Two men who had been the l5est 
scholars in school, J. J. Dixwell and J. "YV. Edmands, con- 
tinued dear friends all their lives. 



AN OLD TEACHER. 



55 



more and more firmly in the expression of every coun- 
tenance. When I enlarged upon the nobleness of refus- 
ing to betray each other, I rejoiced to see a surprised 
but delighted feeling of exultation on the faces of most 
of them, and something like inquiry on other faces. 
When I enlarged upon the beauty of generously helping 
each other, and the meanness and poor selfishness of 
trying to climb over others, I observed a dubious expres- 
sion in some faces, as if they were trying to settle a 
question, and of proud satisfaction in others, as if rejoic- 
ing to see- it rightly settled. When I told them that I 
intended to be perfectly just toward them, as soon as 
I knew them well enough to see what would be justice, 
I saw hope beaming in the eyes of some sad faces where 
it seemed as if it had always, till then, been a stranger. 
I have always felt, as I became acquainted with my 
pupils, which I sought to become, as soon as I could : 
Here is a boy who is able to take care of himself ; he 
only wants opportunity. But here is a poor fellow who 
is discouraged; he wants aid and encouragement in 
everything ; he cannot do without me ; I must win his 
affection ; if possible, make him love me. Then he will 
draw near to me, and learn to rely upon me, and I shall 
be able to help him. I have constantly been convinced, 
from the time I first felt the divine character of the truths 
of the New Testament, that invariably the best thing to 
be done for every child is to educate his conscience,"* to 
make him feel the enormity and ugliness of falsehood 
and evil, and the preciousness and beauty of truth and 
good. This is the one great truth which every teacher 
and every parent, especially every mother, should learn, 
without which, indeed, no noble character can be formed. 
Educate the conscience. 



56 ( REMINISCENCES OF 

By a careful examination of man}?- weeks, I found 
what each of my pupils bad done, and pretty nearly 
what he was capable of doing, so that I could arrange 
them in little classes, according to their capacity and 
attainments. In this way I could lead some of them to 
do verj- much more than they could have done if they 
had been arranged together, those who were diligent 
and bright and had made actual progress, with the dull 
boj's, who were without much real attainment. This 
was something ; I could hear lessons, but I could not, 
in most cases, give much instruction. 

There was a single exception. I had long been ac- 
quainted with Warren Colburn, had taken many long 
walks with him, on which we had discussed, somewhat 
fully, different modes of teaching ; and I had been very 
particularly struck b} T his original ideas as to the true 
way to teach arithmetic. He had then a private school, 
which occupied much of his time. I told him that if he 
would, beginning with the simplest numbers, write out 
questions in the order in which he thought the} T ought 
to be put, I would try them with my pupils, and tell 
him how far I agreed with him, and, if I found anything 
to correct or alter, I would let him know. This he was 
glad to do ; and I gave out, according to his arrange- 
ment, all the questions in the manuscript of his first 
edition. I found scarcely a word to correct, and was 
surprised and much delighted with the successful exper- 
iment. 

The effect upon my boys was most satisfactory. They 
soon found themselves answering instantaneously, and 
without difficult}", questions which, without this drill, it 
would have been impossible for them to answer. 



AN OLD TEACHER. 57 

This, let it be remembered, was the questions of the 
first edition, those given by Colburn himself. That first 
book was the most important step in teaching that had 
ever been made. The use of it, just as it was, was a 
blessing to every child who had to be taught. It was 
mental, acting directly upon the mind. That blessing 
has been forfeited in almost every subsequent edition. 
The book is now cruelty and stupidly put into the hands 
of poor children to be studied, and has altogether ceased 
to be mental arithmetic. 



58 REMINISCENCES CI 



CHAPTER VIII. 

AFTER the division of the bo} T s, according to 
capacity and real attainment, was made, from 
careful examination, I soon found, as I have already 
stated, that some of them could do, satisfactorily, 
many times more than others, and I accordingly gave 
to the foremost and most capable, in addition to other 
studies, lessons in geometry and French, and some 
little of real instruction in history, illustrated by geog- 
raplry and chronolog} 1 " ; and recommended, for their 
reading at home, the lives of some of the remarkable 
men of ancient and modern times. For I thought 
then, as I do -now, that history, ancient as well as 
modern, is to be taught most satisfactorily and pleas- 
antly to the j'oung through the lives of individual men. 

I required all to commit to memory, and recite every 
Saturday, lines from the best English poets. This, I 
soon found, was pleasant to nearly all of them, and 
improved their taste and their memory. Several of 
them not only became very fond of this exercise, but 
read with delight some of the best poetry in the lan- 
guage, such as that of Goldsmith, Gra} r , Campbell, 
Scott, Cowper, Byron, Brj-ant, and some portions of 
Milton. 

I also gave them subjects to write upon which re- 



AN OLD TEACHER. 59 

quired observation, such as the description of a street, 
a single building, the harbor, a boat, a ship, the State 
House, the Common with its trees and cows, Charles 
River ; and gradually, subjects that required thought, 
such as truthfulness, habits of industry, self-culture, 
procrastination, choice of friends, diligence ; and I still 
have, carefully preserved, many creditable compositions 
on these subjects by members of this first class. 

The faithful preparation for the performance of all 
nry duties, in management and instruction, occupied 
nearly all m}- time, leaving me little for societ}\ For 
some weeks I was well accommodated at boarding- 
houses, but nowhere did I find a home. The longing 
for one led me to applj- to a very noble lady whom I 
had long known, and to beg her to let me become one 
of her family. She granted my request in the kindest 
manner possible. She was the widow of Rev. William 
Emerson, and among her sons I found William, whom 
I had long known and loved, the best reader, and with 
the sw r eetest voice I ever heard, and a pleasant talker ; 
Ralph Waldo, whom I had known and admired, and 
whom all the world now knows almost as well as I do ; 
Edward Bliss, the most modest and genial, the most 
beautiful and the most graceful speaker, a universal 
favorite ; and Charles Chaunce} T , bright and ready, full 
of sense, ambitious of distinction, and capable of it. 

There was never a more delightful family or one 
more sure of distinction, the intimate acquaintance 
with which has had a most benignant influence on my 
whole life ; and in that family I found a home. 

To enable me to vary and enlarge nry instruction, the 
school committee obtained leave to import a few philo- 



(30 REMINISCENCES OF 

sophical instruments. Dr. Prince, of Salem, whom I 
went several times to confer with, gave me aid in select- 
ing and ordering them ; and I soon had the pleasure of 
seeing them safely arrive from London. Some of these 
I used as soon as any of the boys were ready to under- 
stand and profit by them, which was very soon ; so 
that I was able to give some real instruction. 

Most of the wooden instruments soon suffered, on 
account of the diyness of our climate when compared 
with that of London, and had to be repaired or some- 
what changed. 

I required all n^ bo} r s to declaim choice selections in 
prose and in poetiy. This was a new thing ; some of 
them enjoyed it, and gradually learned to speak ex- 
tremely well. 

We never had any difficulty in the management of 
offences. Indeed, in school, there were very few to 
manage. But some difficulties arose on the playground, 
in which I declined to interfere, and the settlement of 
which many of the boj's considered important. So I 
recommended that they should form a court, before 
which such cases might be tried. A judge was accord- 
ing^ chosen bj T themselves, a jun T of ten, and advocates 
on each side. To qualif} T themselves for the perform- 
ance of these duties, the bo} T s found themselves obliged 
to go into the court-rooms, and see how justice was 
discovered and administered by real judges and advo- 
cates and juries. Several cases were very successfully 
tried, and the decisions and awards as honestly given, 
and, apparently, as justly, as they are in the courts of 
the Commonwealth. 

At the end of the first half-year, a public examina- 



AN OLD TEACHER. Q\ 

tion took place. The hall was crowded 03- people who 
wanted to see how the English Classical School was 
managed. I explained, in a few words, my modes of 
governing and of teaching, and begged them to judge 
for themselves. The declamation was good ; the exam- 
inations in geography, history, and French satisfactory ; 
the poetical recitations very gratifying. In mental 
arithmetic, an exhibition was made which struck every- 
body as wonderful. Questions were given out which 
few persons present would have thought it possible to 
answer, and which were answered fully, clearly, and 
instantly. The effect was such as had never been 
dreamed of. The applause was astounding ; and the 
audience separated with a conviction, in the minds of 
some persons, that Boston had rarely seen such a 
school before. 

For arithmetic, my pupils were constantly drilled in 
Colburn's Mental, learning not much else ; and the} r 
told me that it constantly happened that, in their little 
dealings at the shops, the}' knew instantly the amount 
of their purchases, while the sellers had to cipher them 
out on their books or slates, and often made mistakes. 

The most serious difficulty I had ever encountered in 
the management of the boys was presented b} r the 
necessity of awarding the city medals. Six medals 
were sent to me to be given to the six best scholars in 
rny first class. Who were the six best? I laid the 
matter before the school, telling the boys that it was 
impossible for me to tell who best deserved the medals. 
To do that I ought to know who had been most faithful, 
who had overcome the greatest difficulties, who, strug- 
gling against nature and inadequate preparation, had 



62 REMINISCENCES OF 

made really the greatest progress. I had never had a 
head in any class. It would not have been difficult to 
guess who would have been at the head. But one who, 
from excellent preparation and fine natural talents, 
would have placed himself at the head, was really not 
so deserving of a medal as the bo} r who had overcome 
difficulties most successfully and improved his natural 
powers most faithfully. 

I must assign the medals. I, should do it as well as 
I could, but I could not be sure that I did it justly. I 
did, accordingly, give the medals to the six whom I 
considered the most deserving, and who were appar- 
ently the best scholars. This assignment gave evident 
satisfaction in almost every case, but there was one 
bo}^ who was bitterly disappointed, and who naturally 
charged his disappointment to me. He never looked 
kindly at me from that hour ; and whenever, for } T ears 
after, I met him on the street, he looked awa} r , with a 
cloud on his face. If I had had one medal more, I 
would have given it to him. But there were only six 
to give. I ought to have gone to the committee and 
insisted upon having another to bestow ; but I did not. 
The poor boy, afterward a somewhat distinguished mar*, 
never forgave me, — and I never forgave myself; and I 
never look back upon the whole matter, I never think 
of him, but with pain. 

My original purpose in seeking the place of principal 
of the English Classical School was to try the experi- 
ment of making the formation and improvement of 
character the leading object of the school. I taught as 
well as I could, but alwa}-s considered this teaching of 
little consequence compared with that of the formation 



AN OLD TEACHER. (J3 

in nr^ pupils of a single and noble character. I always 
began school with reading a few verses from the New 
Testament, pointing out the great lessons they gave 
and the truths they taught, and asking a blessing from 
the Giver of all good. To be able to speak confidently 
of the effect of my teaching, I must be able to look 
into the hearts of my pupils. Judging from appear- 
ances, the observance of order and good habits, the 
mutual kindness I saw, and the affectionate confidence 
and respect entertained toward myself, I had reason to 
thank God for his blessing upon my work. 



/' 



64 



REMINISCENCES' OF 



CHAPTER IX. 



I HAD been pleasantly and successfully emplcy r ed 
in the English Classical School for nearly two 
years, when the Hon. William Sullivan, several of 
whose sons had been with me in my school in Lan- 
caster, told me that he wanted me to teach his daughters, 
and that he would, if I consented, find twent} r -five 
young ladies to be my pupils, for the instruction of 
whom I should be much better paid than I was then 
paid. 

I told him I was entirely satisfied with my position, 
and more than satisfied with my success in an experi- 
ment in some respects new. I felt the greatest interest 
in my work and in the boys in the school, and should 
be happy to go on with them. The very reason, he 
said, why he wished me to take charge of his daughters 
was that I had been so successful in the education of 
boys, on the highest and most unexceptionable prin- 
ciples. He considered the education of girls, on such 
principles, more important than that of boys, because 
they would have almost the entire education of their 
children. Most men have scarcely anything to do with 
the highest education of their children, even their boj's. 
It is all left to the mothers ; and if the highest educa- 
tion, the formation of the purest character, was desirable 



AN OLD TEACHER. 65 

for all children, it must be given by the mothers. These 
considerations, when I came to dwell upon them, nat- 
urally produced a strong effect, and made me ask 
myself whether I should not be able to do more good 
as a teacher of girls than it would be possible for me 
to do as a teacher of boys. I consulted some of my 
best friends, particularly Mrs. Samuel Eliot, mother of 
my friend S. A. Eliot, who strongly confirmed me in 
an affirmative answer to the question. 

Mr. Sullivan soon saw, for we discussed the matter 
many times, that an impression had been made on me, 
and sought to make his argument irresistible by telling 
me that he knew I wanted to marry, and I might easily 
see that I could not live, as I should desire to live, on 
the $1,500 a year I received from the city of Boston. 
Twenty- five girls would secure a thousand more, with 
which addition I might live very pleasantly. This argu- 
ment convinced me, and I told him that if I could per- 
suade Solomon P. Miles, who had succeeded me in 
Lancaster and in Harvard College, and had given com- 
plete satisfaction, to be a candidate for the place of 
master in the English Classical School, I would accept 
his offer. So I went out to Cambridge to see my old 
friend, and easily persuaded him to offer himself as the 
candidate. 

At the same time that Mr. Sullivan w£s urging me, 
his friend, Josiah Quincy, then lmiyor of the city, said 
he would venture to promise me, if I would remain, an 
addition of $500 to my salary, which would make it 
equal to the highest salary then given to airy teacher in 
New England. The final arrangement was concluded 
in April, 1823. 
5 



(56 REMINISCENCES OF 

When it was known that twenty-five young ladies, 
from some of the best families in Boston, were to form 
a new school, several others were desirous of joining 
them, so that, on the 9th of June, 1823, thirty-two 
young ladies met me as pupils in a very large room in 
what was then a boarding-house on Beacon Street. 

I limited my number to thirty-two, because I thought 
that number as large as I could properly teach. I 
opened a book for applicants and entered several 
names, in the order of application, to be admitted in 
that order, as vacancies should occur in my school. 
This book was never without names but once as long 
as I kept my school. I was sitting, one Saturda}- even- 
ing, thinking that I should have to begin, on Monday 
morning, with thirtj'-one. This, I thought, was prob- 
ably the beginning of the end ; but I tried to comfort 
m} T self b} T thinking that, if this school failed, I could 
go into the country and teach bo} T s, in a public or pri- 
vate school or academy. I had just come to this con- 
clusion when a very respectable gentleman came in, 
full, he said, of anxiety lest he had come too late to 
get his daughter admitted. From that day I was never 
without more applicants than I could admit. 

My object was, naturally, to give nry pupils the best 
education possible, to teach them what it was most 
important for every one to know, and to form right 
habits of thought, and give such instruction as would 
lead to the formation of the highest character, to fit 
them to be good daughters and sisters, good neighbors, 
good wives, and good mothers. I wished to give them, 
as far as possible, a complete knowledge of our rich 
and beautiful English language. With this in view I 



AN OLD TEACHER. £7 

set them all to study Latin, since all the hardest words 
in our language, as in French and Italian, are thence 
derived. Some fathers begged me not to let their 
daughters waste their time upon Latin, but rather 
devote it to French and Italian. All such girls I set 
immediately to study French. But to the rest I gave 
four or five lessons every week in the Latin language, 
with as little as possible of the grammar. I kept up 
this for two years always, and in some cases for three. 
At the end of the two or three Latin years, I set them 
to study French and then Italian. These studies were 
very eas}*, as they found that they knew already the 
roots of nearly all the hard words, and so could give 
much of their time to writing the languages. 

At the end of three or four years, those who had 
studied Latin knew more of French and Italian than 
♦those who had given all their time to them. In Italian, 
those who had studied Virgil faithfully, found little 
difficulty with Dante, who had followed Virgil so far as 
language alone was in question, and whose language is 
more like Virgil's Latin than it is like modern Italian. 
Those who had studied only French and Italian, found 
Dante almost unintelligible, and were, nearly all of 
them, obliged to give him up. Maivyj'ears afterwards, 
I spent half a 3 r ear in Rome, and became acquainted 
with some of the teachers. The}* told me they never 
thought of setting their pupils to read Dante. It was 
almost unintelligible to them. 

For arithmetic, nry pupils were constantly drilled in 
Colburn's Mental, learning not much else ; and they 
told me that it constantly happened that, in their little 
dealings at the shops, they knew instantly the amount 



6$ REMINISCENCES OF 

of their purchases, while the sellers had to cipher them 
out on their books or slates, and often made mistakes. 

In history, I began and long continued in the old 
way, giving out six or eight pages in some excellent 
writer, such as Robertson, and requiring my pupils to 
answer the questions I put to them at the next morn- 
ing's recitation. This was more satisfactoiy to some 
of them than to me, so that, after some years, I under- 
took to teach them history in another way. On warm 
days in summer, for the school then stretched into sum- 
mer, I set them all down with their maps before them, 
and for one or two hours, gave them, in nvy own 
words, what I considered the most interesting and 
important facts and thoughts in a portion of history, 
sometimes, however, reading long passages when they 
were clear and well written. 

This made them familiar with the authors I quoted, 
and often led to a more intimate acquaintance. In the 
two months during which this reading was continued, 
not much history could be given, but a love for it was 
formed which led to pleasant reading, b} T themselves, of 
many favorite volumes, and to the habit of reading 
good books, which has, in many instances, lasted alwa3 T s. 

In natural philosophy, I began with the easiest text- 
books I could find, and with a few experiments making 
things clear and creating an interest. These earl}' books 
were English, and very excellent. When I had to use 
American, I soon found that they were usually the 
poor abridgments of larger treatises, made by ignorant 
persons, for the printer. The apparent originals I 
found little better, made by illiterate people, for sale 
in the schools and academies. This drove me to the 



AN OLD TEACHER. Q$ 

real originals, so that I was led to read Newton's Prin- 
eijna, La Place, Galileo, Lavoisier, and other books, 
the works of the original thinkers. To do this required 
an immense deal of time, so that I was actually driven 
into the habit of never going abroad to spend my even- 
ings, with the single exception of one evening in a week, 
to meet at a club a small number of very old friends. 



70 REMINISCENCES OF 



CHAPTER X. 

GRADUALLY other things, of a more public na- 
ture, came in to occnp}* and diversify my thoughts. 
I had become acquainted with some of the common 
schools in the State, and met with individuals, teachers 
and others, who were acquainted with them, and sympa- 
thized with me in regard to their wretched condition. 
For several } T ears we met, in Boston, every summer, to 
talk about them, and to consider whether something 
• could not be done for their improvement, and at last 
concluded that a society of teachers should be formed, 
the one object of which should be the improvement of 
the common schools. 

BOSTON SOCIETY OF NATURAL HISTORY. 

In the winter of 1830 a few gentlemen of scientific 
attainments conceived the design of forming a society 
in Boston for the promotion of natural histor}^. After 
several meetings, usually held in the office of Dr. Walter 
Channing, and communicating their design to others 
supposed or known to be favorably disposed toward it. 
a meeting in the same place was called, on the 28th of 
April, 1830. It was organized by the choice of Dr. 
Channing as moderator, and Theophilus Parsons, Esq., 
as secretary. The gentlemen present then resolved to 



AN OLD TEACHER. 71 

form themselves into a society, under the name of the 
Boston.Societ} r of Natural Histor}'. A constitution and 
bj'-laws were adopted, officers were chosen, an act of 
incorporation was obtained, at the next session of the 
Legislature, bearing date February 24, 1831. 

The great object had in view in the formation of the 
society was to promote a taste, and afforcj facilities, for 
the pursuit of natural history, by mutual co-operation, 
and the formation of a cabinet and a library. But it was 
alwa3 T s understood that especial attention should be 
given to the investigation of the objects in our own 
immediate vicinity. 

Thomas Nuttall, Esq., the well-known botanist and 
ornithologist, was chosen the first president ; but, re- 
garding himself as only a transient resident, he declined 
the office, to which Benj. D. Greene, a distinguished 
botanist, was chosen. Among those most early inter- 
ested were Drs. Geo. Hayward and John Ware, Hon. 
F. C. Gray, Rev. F. W. P. Greenwood, Charles T. Jack- 
son, M. D., Dr. D. Humphreys Storer, Dr. Augustus A. 
Gould. To Dr. Gould's notice of these events I am 
indebted for almost all that I have here recorded. 

A few of us, from the beginning, often met and dis- 
cussed the character of the natural objects that presented 
themselves. We continued, for some years, to meet, 
often, in the evening, at each other's houses. In 1837 I 
was chosen president. We had then made valuable 
collections, hy gifts and our own researches. These col- 
lections of our own we found seldom anywhere described, 
and, talking these things over, many times, we at last 
concluded that a surve}' of the whole State ought to be 
made, by competent persons, to complete the excellent 



72 REMINISCENCES OF 

Report made by Dr. Hitchcock upon the mineralogy 
and geology of the State, and that it was our. duty to 
lay this want before the government of the State, and 
to endeavor to have a surve} T organized. 

As I was president, it was agreed that I ought to 
write a memorial and lay it before Gov. Everett. This 
I accordingly t did, as well as I could 

Gov. Everett, who was an old friend of mine, received 
my memorial very graciousl}', and read it. He said that 
he was very glad that I had written the memorial, that 
he coincided in the statements therein made, and that 
he would immediately lay it before the Senate and the 
House of Representatives. 

In a few days he sent for me, and told me that my 
memorial had been very justly appreciated by both 
houses, who had given him authority to appoint six per- 
sons to make a survey of the State, and had voted an ap- 
propriation for the expenses of the survey. "Now," he 
said, " 3'ou are better acquainted with the naturalists in 
the State than I am, and will do me a favor b}* suggesting 
the names of persons whom j t ou consider competent to 
do this work satisfactorily." I told him I knew some 
such persons ; that Dr. Harris, of Cambridge, was a very 
learned entomologist, and knew the nature and the habits 
of more insects than any other person in the country. 
Dr. Harris was agreed upon as the most suitable person 
to report upon the insects. I told him Dr. Gould was 
a very nice observer, an excellent draughtsman and dis- 
sector, and well acquainted with many of the lower 
animals. He was accordingly appointed to report on 
invertebrates. Dr. Storer was a careful observer, and 
had already become acquainted with man}' of the fishes 



AN OLD TEACHER. 73 

of the sea and rivers. Dr. Storer was appointed to 
make a report upon the fishes. There was another 
person, I told him, who knew more about the birds than 
any other person in the country. " Stop there ! " said 
Gov. Everett. "Will it do, in providing for a survey of 
the State of Massachusetts, to appoint men from Boston 
and Cambridge only ?" I told him I was not intimately 
acquainted with the naturalists in other parts of the 
State ; I only knew them by report. ' ' How would Mr. 
Peabod} T , of Springfield, do for the birds?" asked he. 
I answered that I knew. Mr. Peabody, as he knew him, 
as a person of veiy great talent, and an admirable writer. 
If he knew nothing especially about the birds, he could 
soon find out, and then he would write a report so well 
that everybody would be charmed with it. Mr. Peabody 
was accordingly appointed to write a report upon the 
birds. Then Gov. Everett asked, "Doj'ou not know 
men, in the extreme west, in Berkshire, at Stockbridge, 
or Williamstown ? " "There is," I said, "a man at 
Stockbridge who must be a good botanist ; he has just 
given, in Silliman's Journal, one or two excellent papers 
upon the sedges, one of the most difficult genera in bot- 
any." "Well, let Dr. Dewey report upon botany." Then 
I said, " I do not know who is the Professor of Natural 
History in Williams College, but I do know President 
Hopkins, and am prett}' sure that he would not appoint 
a very ordinary man." Prof. Emmons was accordingly 
appointed to report upon the quadrupeds. 

When I met my friends in the societ} T , and told them 
what names I had suggested, they immediately asked to 
what I was myself to be appoimted. I answered, "To 
none ; Gov. Everett has made me responsible for all the 



74 REMINISCENCES OF 

reports ; I must read them, and see them through the 
press. Besides, I have not the time, for you all know 
that, for nine months in the year, I am as busy as possible 
with my school." "That will not do," the} 7 responded ; 
"we have all been accustomed to work with you, and 
who else would be so pleasant to work with?" So they 
continued to urge. I told them all the places were filled, 
just the six we had agreed upon. "Why cannot you," 
one of them insisted, "agree with Dr. Dewey to divide 
the botany, he taking all the other plants, and giving 
you the trees and shrubs, of which }'OU know more than 
any of us? They will be enough for one person." So 
they compelled me to yield. I wrote to Prof. Dewey, 
who answered me immediately that he should rejoice to 
give the trees to some one else, as he did not know them 
very well, and could hardly find time to stud}' them. 

I was thus pressed into the work, which, however, I 
resolved to do as well as I could make myself able to do. 
For ten or twelve weeks of nine successive summers, I 
devoted myself to the exploration. I visited and ex- 
plored eveiy considerable forest in the State. I wrote 
to several hundreds of those known or supposed to be 
acquainted with the woods, and received very many val- 
uable letters. I thus became acquainted with nearly 
eveiy variety of tree, and studied it attentively. I was 
in the habit of sitting down under a tree, to examine it, 
root, stem, bark, branches, leaves, and fruits, as thor- 
oughly as I could, recording all that I saw. In many 
instances I compared my notes, made in one part of the 
State, with what I had observed in another, a hundred 
miles off. 

I thus became acquainted, as thoroughl}* as I was able, 



AN OLD TEACHER. 75 

with all the trees and shrubs in the State. This was 
very pleasant work, and I made acquaintance, far more 
pleasant, with the farmers in every part of the State. 
They were always willing and glad to leave their own 
work and walk with me, often all day long, through the 
woods, showing me the remarkable trees, and hearing 
from me their names. I never received an unkind or 
discourteous answer from a farmer in any part of the 
State, except once, within three miles of Boston, and 
that was from an Englishman. 

Most of the reports were sent in within a }'ear. That 
by Mr. Peabocty, upon the birds, was charmingly written, 
and was read with gratification lyy all lovers of birds. 
It undoubtedly saved the lives of thousands, and turned 
the attention of the agricultural population to the val- 
uable services the} 7, perform. 

Dr. Harris's report, upon insects injurious to vegeta- 
tion, was admitted at once, by those acquainted with 
the subject, to be the most valuable report ever made. 
It has been again and again republished by the Legisla- 
ture. In the last edition, illustrated with figures, it takes 
its place among the very best reports ever made upon 
the subject. 

Dr. Gould's report was confined to the shells, and 
was the first report upon that subject ever made in this 
country. He gives a very accurate, often extremely 
beautiful figure of every object described, and an equally 
excellent description. With the aid of his book, any 
careful observer may find out the nature and character 
of every shell. This report was published in 1841. 

Dr. Gould was engaged in preparing a fuller and 
more complete report, which was interrupted by death in 



76 REMINISCENCES OF 

1866, and his work was satisfactorily completed by his 
friend, W. G. Binney. 

Dr. Storer's report upon the fishes and reptiles of 
Massachusetts was given to me, with that upon the 
birds, and by me laid before Gov. Everett in 1839, 
and immediately printed for the benefit of the inhabi- 
tants. 



AN OLD TEACHER. 77 



CHAPTER XI. 

FOR several years the condition of the common 
schools in New England was very often a subject 
of conversation at the annual meetings of the American 
Institute of Instruction. It was unanimously agreed 
that these schools were in a desperately low condition, 
and yet growing worse from year to } T ear. At last it 
was determined that something ought to be done for 
their improvement, and that the directors of the Insti- 
tute ought to do it ; and it was resolved that a memo- 
rial upon the subject should be made to the Legislature, 
and that I, being president, ought to prepare and to 
offer it. This was done, and the following memorial 
was placed in the hands of the governor, with a request 
that he would lay it before the Senate and House of 
Representatives : — 

MEMORIAL OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF INSTRUC- 
TION TO THE MASSACHUSETTS LEGISLATURE. 

To the Honorable the Legislature of the Commonwealth of Mass. : 
The memorial of the Directors of the American Insti- 
tute of Instruction, praying that provision may be made 
for the better preparation of the teachers of the schools 
of the Commonwealth, respectfully showeth : 

That there is, throughout the Commonwealth, a great 
want of well-qualified teachers ; 



78 REMINISCENCES OF 

That this is felt in all the schools, of all classes, but 
especially in the most important and numerous class, the 
District Schools ; 

That wherever, in any town, exertion has been made 
to improve these schools, it has been met and baffled b}~ 
the want of good teachers ; that the} T have been sought 
for in vain ; the highest salaries have been offered to no 
purpose ; that they are not to be found in sufficient num- 
bers to supply the demand ; 

That their place is supplied by persons exceedingly 
incompetent, in many respects ; b} T young men, in the 
course of their studies, teaching from necessit3 T , and 
often with a strong dislike for the pursuit ; by mechan- 
ics and others wanting present employment ; and by 
persons who have failed in other callings and take to 
teaching as a last resort, with no qualification for it, and 
no desire of continuing in it longer than thej T are obliged 
b} r an absolute necessity ; 

That those among this number* who have a natural 
fitness for the work, now gain the experience — without 
which no one, whatever his gifts, can become a good 
teacher — by the sacrifice, winter after winter, of the 
time and advancement of the children of the schools of 
the Commonwealth ; 

That every school is now liable to have a winter's 
session wasted by the unskilful attempts of an instruc- 
tor making his first experiments in teaching. Bj r the 
close of the season, he ma} T have gained some insight 
into the mysteiy, may have hit upon some tolerable 
method of discipline, may have grown somewhat famil- 
iar with the books used and with the character of the 
children ; and, if he could go on in the same school for 



AN OLD TEACHER. . 79 

successive years, might become a profi table teacher. 
But whatever he may have gaiuecl himself from his ex- 
periments, he will have failed too entirely of meeting 
the just expectations of the district to leave him any 
hope of being engaged for a second term. He accord- 
ingly looks elsewhere for the next season, and the dis- 
trict receives another master, to have the existing reg- 
ulations set aside, and to undergo another series of 
experiments. We do not state the fact too strongly, 
when we say that the time, capacities, and opportuni- 
ties of thousands of the children are sacrificed, winter 
after winter, to the preparation of teachers who, after 
this enormous sacrifice, are, notwithstanding, often 
very wretchedly prepared ; 

That manj T times no preparation is even aimed at ; 
that such is the known demand' for teachers of every 
kind, with or without qualifications, that candidates 
present themselves for the employment, and commit- 
tees, in despair of finding better, employ those who 
have no degree of fitness for the work ; that committees 
are obliged to employ, to take charge of their children, 
men to whose incompetency the} T would reluctantly 
commit their farms or their workshops ; 

That the reaction of this deplorable incompetency 
of the teachers upon the minds of the committees is 
hardly less to be deplored, hardly less alarming, as it 
threatens to continue the evil and render it perpetual. 
Finding they cannot get suitable teachers at any price, 
they naturally apportion the salary to the value of the 
service rendered, and the consequence is that, in many 
places, the wages of a teacher are below those given in 
the humblest of the mechanic arts ; and instances are 



80 REMINISCENCES OF 

known of persons of tolerable qualifications as teachers 
declining to quit, for a season, some of the least gain- 
ful of the trades, on the ground of the lowness of the 
teacher's pay. 

We merely state these facts, without enlarging upon 
them, as they have too great and melancholy a notori- 
ety. We but add our voice to the deep tone of grief 
and complaint which sounds from every part of the 
Commonwealth. We are not surprised at this condi- 
tion of the teachers ; we should be surprised if it were 
much otherwise. 

Most of the winter schools are taught for about three 
months of the year, the summer not far beyond four. 
They are therefore of necessity taught, and must con- 
tinue to be taught, by persons who, for two thirds or 
three fourths of the year, have other pursuits, in quali- 
fying themselves for which the} r have spent the usual 
period, and which, of course, they look upon as the 
main business of their lives. The}' cannot be expected 
to make great exertions and expensive preparation for 
the work of teaching, in which the standard is so low, 
and for which they are so poorly paid. 

Whatever desire they might have, it would be almost 
in vain. There are now no places suited to give them 
the instruction they need. For every other profession, 
requiring a knowledge of the principles of science and 
the conclusions of experience, there are special schools 
and colleges, with learned and able professors and 
ample apparatus. For the preparation of the teacher, 
there is almost none. In every other art ministering 
to the wants and convenience of men, masters may be 
found ready to impart whatsoever of skill they have to 



A AT OLD TEACHER. %\ 

the willing apprentice ; and the usage of societ}- justly 
requires that }~ears should be spent, under the e3 r e of 
an adept, to gain the requisite abilit}-. An apprentice- 
ship to a schoolmaster is known only in tradition. 

We respectfully maintain that it ought not so to be. 
So much of the intelligence and character, the welfare 
and immediate and future happiness of all the citizens, 
now and hereafter, depends on the condition of the 
common schools, that it is of necessit} T a matter of the 
dearest interest to all the present generation ; that the 
common education is to such a degree the palladium of 
our liberties, and the good condition of the common 
schools, in which that education is chiefly obtained, so 
vitally important to the stability of our State, to our 
very existence as a free State, that it is the most proper 
subject for legislation, and calls loudly for legislative 
provision and protection. The commons schools ought 
to be raised to their proper place, and this can only be 
done by the better education of the teachers. 

We maintain that provision ought to be made, b} T the 
Stat^', for the education of teachers ; because, while their 
education is so important to the State, their condition 
generally is such as to put a suitable education entirely 
be} T ond their reach ; because, b} r no other means is it 
likety that a system shall be introduced which shall 
prevent the immense annual loss of time to the schools 
from a change of teachers ; and because the qualifica- 
tions of a first-rate teacher are such as cannot be 
gained but by giving a considerable time wholly to the 
work of preparation. 

In his calling there is a peculiar difficulty in the fact 
that, whereas, in other callings and professions, duties 
6 



82 REMINISCENCES OF 

and difficulties come on gradually, and one by one, giv- 
ing ample time in the intervals for special preparation, 
in his they all come at once. On the first day on 
which he enters the school, his difficulties meet him 
with a single, unbroken, serried front, as numerously 
as they ever will ; and they refuse to be separated. He 
cannot divide and overcome them singly, putting off 
the more formidable to wrestle with at a future time. 
He could only have met them with complete success 
b}^ long forecast, by months and years of prepara- 
tion. 

The qualifications requisite in a good teacher, of 
which man}?- have so low and inadequate an idea as to 
think them almost the instinctive attributes of every 
man and every woman, we maintain to be noble and 
excellent qualities, rarely united in a high degree in the 
same individual, and to obtain which one must give, 
and may ivell give, much time and study. 

We begin with the lowest. He must have a thorough 
Tcnoivledge of whatever he undertakes to teach. If it 
were not so common, how absurd would it seem that 
one should undertake to communicate to another flu- 
ency and grace in the beautiful accomplishment of 
reading, without having them himself; or to give skill 
in the processes of arithmetic, while he understands 
them so dimly himself as to be obliged to follow the rules 
as blindly as the child he is teaching. And ysl are 
there not many teachers yearly employed by commit- 
tees, from the impossibility of finding better, who, in 
reading and arithmetic, as in everything else, are but 
one step before, if they do not fall behind, the fore- 
most of their own pupils ? Is it not so in geography, 



AN OLD TEACHER. 



83 



in English grammar, in everything, in short, which is 
now required to be taught ? 

If the teacher understood thoroughly what is required 
in the usual prescribed course, it would be something. 
But we maintain that the teachers of the public schools 
ought to be able to to do much more. In every school 
occasions are daily occurring, on which, from a well- 
stored mind, could be imparted, upon the most interest- 
ing and important subjects, much that, at the impressi- 
ble period of his pupilage, would be of the greatest 
value to the learner. Besides, there are alwa} r s at 
least a few forward pupils, full of talent, read}^ to make 
advances far beyond the common course. Such, if 
their teacher could conduct them, would rejoice, instead 
of circling again and again in the same dull round, to 
go onward, in other and higher studies, so manifestly 
valuable that the usual studies of a school seem but as 
steps intended to lead up to them. 

In the second place, a teacher should so understand 
the ordering and discipline of a school as to be able at 
once to introduce system, and keep it constantly in 
force. Much precious time, as already stated, is lost 
in making, changing, abrogating, modelling, and re- 
modelling rules and regulations. And not only is the 
time utterly lost, but the changes are a source of per- 
plexity and vtx'ition to master and pupil. A judicious 
system of regulations not only takes up no time, but 
saves time for everything else. We believe there are 
few persons to whom this knowledge of system comes 
without an effort, who are born with such an apti- 
tude to order that they fall into it naturally and of 
course. 



84 REMINISCENCES OF 

In the third place, a teacher should know how to 
teach. This, we believe, is the rarest and most impor- 
tant of his qualifications. Without it, great knowledge, 
however pleasant to the possessor, will be of little use 
to his pupils ; and with it, a small fund will be made to 
produce great effects. It cannot with propriet}' be con- 
sidered a single faculty. It is rather a practical knowl- 
edge of the best methods of bringing the truths of the 
several subjects that are to be taught to the compre- 
hension of the learner. Not often does the same 
method apply to several studies. It must vary with 
the nature of the truths to be communicated, and with 
the age, capacity, and advancement of the pupil. To 
possess it full} r , one must have ready command of ele- 
mentaiy principles, a habit of seeing them in various 
points of view, and promptly seizing the one best 
suited to the learner ; a power of awakening his curi- 
osity, and of adapting the lessons to the mind, so as to 
bring out its faculties naturally and without violence. 
It therefore supposes an acquaintance with the minds 
of children, the order in which their faculties expand, 
and by what discipline the} T may be nurtured, and their 
inequalities repaired. 

This knowledge of the human mind and character 
may be stated as a fourth qualification of a teacher. 
Without it he will be alwa3 r s groping his way darkly. 
He will disgust the forward and quick-witted by mak- 
ing them linger along with the slow, and dishearten the 
slow by expecting them to keep pace with the swift. 
Whoever considers to how great a degree the success- 
ful action of the mind depends on the state of the feel- 
ings and affections, will be ready to admit that an 



AN OLD TEACHER. g5 

instructor should know so much of the connection and 
subordination of the parts of the human character as 
to be able to enlist them all in the same cause, to gain 
the heart to the side of advancement, and to make the 
affections the ministers of truth and wisdom. 



86 REMINISCENCES OF 



CHAPTER XII. 

MEMORIAL OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE OE INSTRUC- 
TION TO THE MASSACHUSETTS LEGISLATURE. (CON- 
CLUDED.) 

WE have spoken ver} T briefly of some of the quali- 
fications essential to a good teacher. It is 
hardly necessary to saj- that there are still higher quali- 
fications which ought to belong to the persons who are 
to have such an influence upon the character and well- 
being of the future citizens of the Commonwealth, who, 
besides parents, can do more than all others toward 
training the young to a clear perception of light and 
wrong, to the love of truth, to reverence for. the laws 
of man and of God, to the performance of all the 
duties of good citizens and good men. The teacher 
ought to be a person of elevated character, able to win 
by his manners and instruct by his example, ivithout as 
well as within the school. 

Now, it is known to j-our memorialists that a very 
large number of those, of both sexes, who now teach 
the summer and the winter schools, are, to a mournful 
degree, wanting in all these qualifications. Far from 
being able to avail themselves of opportunities of com- 
municating knowledge on various subjects, they are 
grossi}" ignorant of what they are called on to teach. 



AN OLD TEACHER. g7 

They are often without experience in managing a 
school ; they have no skill in communicating. Instead 
of being able to stimulate and guide to all that is noble 
and excellent, they are, not seldom, persons of such 
doubtful respectability and refinement of character that 
no one would think for a moment of holding them up 
as models to their pupils. In short, they know not 
ivhat to teach, nor how to teach, nor in ivhat spirit to 
teach, nor what is the nature of those they undertake to 
lead, nor what they are themselves who stand forward to 
lead them. 

Your memorialists believe that these are evils of por- 
tentous moment to the future welfare of the people of 
this Commonwealth, and that, while they bear heavily 
on all, they bear especially and with disproportioned 
weight upon the poorer districts in the scattered popu- 
lation of the country towns. The wealthy are less 
directly affected by them, as they can send their chil- 
dren from home to the better schools in other places. 
The large towns are not affected in the same degree, as 
their density of population enables them to employ 
teachers through the year, at salaries which command 
somewhat high qualifications. 

We believe that you have it in your power to adopt 
such measures as shall forthwith diminish these evils, 
and at last remove them ; and that this can only be 
done by providing for the better preparation of teach- 
ers. We therefore pray you to consider the expediency 
of instituting, for the special instruction of teachers, 
one or more seminaries, — either standing independ- 
ently, or in connection with institutions already exist- 
ing, — as } T ou shall, in your wisdom, think best. We 



$8 REMINISCENCES OF 

also beg leave to state -what we conceive to be essential 
to such a seminaiy. 

1. There should be a professor or professors, of 
piety, of irreproachable character and good education, 
and of tried abilit} r and skill in teaching ; 

2. A library, not necessarily large, but well chosen, 
of books on the subjects to be taught and on the art of 
teaching ; 

3. School-rooms well situated and arranged, heated, 
ventilated, and furnished in the manner best approved 
by experienced teachers ; 

4. A select apparatus of globes, maps, and other 
instruments most useful for illustration ; 

5. A situation such that a school may be connected 
with the seminary, accessible by a sufficient number of 
children to give the varietj^ of an ordinary district 
school. 

"\Ye beg leave, also, further, to state the manner in 
which we conceive that such a seminary would be 
immediately useful to the schools within the sphere of 
its influence. We do not believe that the majority of 
the district schools in the Commonwealth will soon, if 
ever, be taught b} r permanent teachers ; we believe that 
they will continue to be taught, as the}' are now, by per- 
sons who, for the greater part of the year, will be 
engaged in some other pursuit ; that as, in the early his- 
tory of Rome, the generous husbandman left his plough 
to fight the battles of the state, so in Massachusetts, 
the free and intelligent citizen will, for a time, quit his 
business, his workshop, or his farm, to fight, for the 
sake of his children and the State, a more vital battle 
against immorality and ignorance. And we rejoice to 



AN OLD TEACHER. go, 

believe that it will be so. So shall the hearts of the 
fathers be in the schools of their children ; so shall the 
teachers have that knowledge of the world, that ac- 
quaintance with men and things, so often wanting in 
the mere school-master, and yet not among the least 
essential of his qualifications. But we wish to see 
these citizens enjoy the means of obtaining the knowl- 
edge and practical skill in the art of teaching which 
shall enable them to perform the duties of this addi- 
tional office worthily. 

Establish a seminary wherever you please, and it 
will be immediately resorted to. We trust too confi- 
dentty in that desire of excellence which seems to be an 
element in our New England character, to doubt that 
any young man, who, looking forward, sees that he 
shall have occasion to teach a school every winter for 
ten years, will avail himself of any means within his 
reach of preparation for the work. Give him the 
opportunhVv, and he cannot fail to be essentially bene- 
fited by his attendance at the seminar}', if it be but 
for a single month. 

In the first place, he will see there an example of 
right ordering and management of a school, the spirit 
of which he may immediately imbibe, and can never 
after be at a loss as to a model of management, or in 
doubt as to its importance. 

In the second place, by listening to the teaching of 
another, he will be convinced of the necessities of 
preparation, as he will see that success depends on 
thorough knowledge and a direct action of the teacher's 
own mind. This alone would be a great point, as 
many a school-master hears reading and spelling, and 



90 REMINISCENCES OF 

looks over writing and arithmetic, without ever attempt- 
ing to give any instruction or explanation, or even 
thinking them necessa^. 

In the third place, he will see put in practice methods 
of teaching ; and though he may, on reflection, conclude 
that none of them are exactly suited to his own mind, 
he will see the value of method, and will never after 
proceed as he would have done if he had never seen 
methodical teaching at all. 

In the next place, he will have new light thrown 
upon the whole work of education, by being made to 
perceive that its great end is not mechanically to com- 
municate ability in certain operations, but to draw forth 
and exercise the whole powers of the physical, intel- 
lectual, and moral being. 

He will, moreover, hardly fail to observe the impor- 
tance of the manners of an instructor, and how far it 
depends on himself to give a tone of cheerfulness and 
alacrity to his school. 

In the last place, if the right spirit prevails at the 
seminary, he will be prepared to enter upon his office 
with an exalted sense of its importance and responsi- 
bility, not as a poor drudge performing a loathsome 
office for a miserable stipend, but as a delegate of the 
authority of parents and the state, to form men to the 
high duties of citizens and the infinite destinies of 
immortalit}^, answerable to them, their country, and 
their God for the righteous discharge of his duties. 

Now, we believe that this single month's preparation 
would be of immense advantage to a young instructor. 
Let him now enter the district school. He has a defi- 
nite idea what arrangements he is to make, what course 



AN OLD TEACHER. 91 

he is to pursue, what he is to take hold of first. He 
knows that he is himself to teach ; he knows what to 
teach, and, in some measure, how he is to set about it. 
He feels how much he has to do to prepare himself, and 
how much depends on his self-preparation. He has 
some conception of the duties and requirements of his 
office. At the end of a single season he will, we ven- 
ture to say, be a better teacher than he could have 
been after half a dozen, had he not availed himself of 
the experience of others. He will hardly fail to seek 
future occasions to draw more largely at the same 
fountain. 

Let us not be understood as offering this statement 
of probable results as mere conjecture. They have 
been confirmed by all the experience, to the point, of a 
single institution in this State, and of many in a for- 
eign country. What is thus, from experience and the 
reason of things, shown to be true in regard to a short 
preparation, will be still more strikingly so of a longer 
one. To him who shall make teaching the occupation 
of his life, the advantages of a teacher's seminary can- 
not easily be estimated. The}- can be faintly imagined 
by him only, who, lawyer, mechanic, or physician, can 
figure to himself what would have been his feelings, 
had he, on the first daj r of his apprenticeship, been 
called to perform at once all the difficult duties of his 
future profession, and after being left to suffer for a 
time the agony of despair at the impossibility, had 
been told that two, three, seven } T ears should be allowed 
him to prepare himself, with all the helps and appli- 
ances which are now so bountifully furnished to him, 
which are furnished to every one except the teacher. 



92 REMINISCENCES OF 

We have no doubt that teachers prepared at such a 
seminary would be in such request as to command at 
once higher pay than is now given, since it would un- 
questionably be found good econonvy to employ them. 

It raises no objection in the minds of your memorial- 
ists, to the plan of a seminary at the State's expense, 
that many of the instructors there prepared would 
teach for only a portion of the year. It is on that Viry 
ground that they ought to be aided. For their daily 
callings they will take care to qualify themselves ; they 
cannot, unaided, be expected to do the same in regard 
to the office of teacher, because it is a casual and tem- 
poraiy one. It is one which they will exercise, in the 
intervals of their stated business, for the good of their 
fellow-citizens. They ought, for that especial reason, 
to be assisted in preparing for it. The gain will be 
theirs, it is true, but it will be still more the gain of the 
community. It will be theirs, inasmuch as they will be 
able to command better salaries ; but it will be only in 
consideration of the more valuable service they will 
render. 

The gain will be shared by other schools than those 
they teach. Seeing what can be done by good teachers, 
districts and committees will no longer rest satisfied 
with poor, and the standard will eveiy where rise. 

If it were only as enabling teachers throughout the 
State to teach, as they should, the branches now 
required to be taught, the seminaries would be worth 
more than their establishment can cost. But they 
would do much more. They would render the instruc- 
tion given more worthy, in kind and ^degree, the en- 
lightened citizens of a free State. 



AN OLD TEACHER. 93 

Without going too minutely into this part of the sub- 
ject, we cannot fall}' show how the course of instruc- 
tion might, in our judgment, be enlarged. We may be 
allowed to indicate a few particulars. 

The study of geometiy, that benignant nurse of 
inventive genius, is at present pursued partially in a 
few of the town schools. We may safely assert that, 
under efficient teachers, the time now given to arith- 
metic would be amply sufficient, not only for that, but 
for geometiy and its most important applications in 
surveying and other useful arts. To a population so 
full of mechanical talent as ours, this would be a pre- 
cious gain. 

We may also point to the case of drawing in right 
lines. It might, with a saving of time, be ingrafted on 
writing, if the instructors were qualified to teach it. 
This beautiful art, so valuable as a guide to the hand 
and eye of every one, especially of eveiy handicrafts- 
man, and deemed almost an essential in every school 
of France and other countries of Europe, is, so far as 
we can learn from the secretary's excellent Report, 
entirely neglected in every public school in Massachu- 
setts. 

We might make similar observations in regard to 
book-keeping, now beginning to be introduced ; to nat- 
ural philosophy, physiology, natural histor}', and other 
studies which might come in, not to the exclusion, but 
to the manifest improvement of the studies already 
pursued. 

When we consider the many weeks in our long North- 
ern winters, during which, all through our borders, the 
arts of the husbandman and builder seem, like the pro- 



94 REMINISCENCES OF 

cesses of the vegetable world, to hold holiday, and the 
sound of many a trowel and many an axe and hammer 
ceases to be heard, and that the hours, without any 
interruption of the busy labors of the year, might be 
given to learning by the youth of both sexes, almost up 
to the age of maturity, these omissions, the une?nployed 
intellect, the golden days of early manhood lost, the 
acquisitions that might be made and are not, assume a 
vastness of importance which may well alarm us. 

It may possibly be apprehended that should superior 
teachers be prepared in the seminaries of Massachu- 
setts, they would be invited to other States b} r higher 
salaries, and the advantage of their, education be thus 
lost to the State. 

We know not that it ought to be considered an unde- 
sirable thing that natives of Massachusetts, who will 
certainly go from time to time to regions more favored 
by nature, should go with such characters and endow- 
ments as to render their chosen homes more worthy to 
be the residence of intelligent men. But we apprehend 
it to be an event much more likely to happen that the 
successful example of Massachusetts should be imitated 
by her sister republics, emulous, as New York has 
alreacty shown herself, to surpass us in what has hither- 
to been the chief glory of New England, — a jealous 
care of the public schools. 

For the elevation of the public schools to the high 
rank which they ought to hold in a community whose 
most precious patrimony is their liberty, and the intel- 
ligence, knowledge, and virtue on which alone it can 
rest, we urge our prayer. We speak boldly, for we 
seek no private end. We speak in the name and 



AN OLD TEACHER. 95 

behalf of those who cannot appear before you to urge 
their own suit, — the sons and daughters of the present 
race, and of all, of every race and class, of coming 
generations in all future times. 

For the Directors of the American Institute of 
Instruction. 

Geo. B. Emerson. 
S. K. Hale. 
W. J. Adams, 

D. Kimball, 

E. A. Andrews, 
B. Greenleaf, 
N. Cleaveland, 



96 REMINISCENCES OF 



CHAPTER XIII. 

THE effect of this communication was immediate and 
very decided. All other business, in botli Houses, 
was given up, and the attention of all was given to the 
question, How shall the schools of the Commonwealth 
be improved ? A Board of Education was formed, 
and Horace Mann, president of the Senate and the 
ablest man in both Houses, was unanimously chosen 
secretaiy, on a salary of $1,500. This appointment 
he accepted, with the understanding that he should 
give his whole time and attention to the duties of the 
office. He thus relinquished at once his business as 
a lawyer, which, in Boston alone, would have been at 
least $15,000 for the next year. 

The Board of Education speedily resolved that there 
should be a Normal School for the preparation of teach- 
ers, and Mr. Mann looked everywhere for a capable 
person to be the head of this school. He found that 
the boys who filled the office of apprentice in the places 
of business in Nantucket, understood and performed 
their duty better and more intelligently than those in 
any other place, and that all these bo}'s were or had 
been taught by one individual, the faithful, well-edu- 
cated, and intelligent Cyrus Pierce, who was accord- 
ingly made head of the first Normal School This 



AN OLD TEACHER. 97 

was opened in Lexington, the generous inhabitants of 
which town had offered to the State a building for the 
purpose, which was amply sufficient for the beginning. 

The lion. Edmund D wight, who had generously 
added $1,000 to the salary of Horace Mann, and who 
had, in various ways, shown the deep interest he felt 
in the education of the State, accompanied me to Lex- 
ington, to make the first visit to Mr. Pierce. We 
found him in a comfortable little room, with two 
pupils, a third being necessarily absent. He received 
us very cordially, and assured us that he was pleasantly 
situated and full of hope. 

I continued to feel a strong interest in the schools of 
the Commonwealth, and visited the Normal Schools, for 
many years, more frequently than airy other individual. 
I found, in West Newton, a suitable building, into 
which the school was transferred when that at Lexing- 
ton had ceased to be large enough, and some years after, 
selected, in the very centre of the State at Lexington, a 
site for a Normal School, and drew the plan of the 
building erected there. I continued to visit the schools, 
especially those at Bridgewater, Salem, and West New- 
ton, and did everything I could for them, sometimes 
aiding in the examination for admission of pupils. 

I had been, for more than forty years, most pleasantly 
engaged in teaching, alwaj's successful, and always 
giving satisfaction to my pupils and engaging their 
affections, when my best friends came to the conclusion 
that I was wearing out, and that it was not safe for me 
to continue longer in the uninterrupted work, however 
pleasant it might be. 

I therefore yielded to their importunities, and con- 
7 



98 REMINISCENCES OF 

sented to give up my school, and to go abroad for two 
years. There were a thousand things in Europe that 
it would be delightful to see and to know, which I was 
well prepared to enjo} r , especially as I had made my- 
self thoroughly acquainted with the French and Italian 
languages, and had made some progress in the Ger- 
man. 

After careful preparation we, that is, my wife and 
myself, embarked on board an excellent steamer, and 
had a very pleasant voyage to Liverpool. I was fond 
of the sea, and perfectly prepared to enjo} T it. but my 
wife suffered very much, so that she could not, after the 
first two da}*s, be upon deck, but remained always in 
her berth. She was, however, entirely relieved in two 
daj^s after landing at Liverpool, and we began with the 
pleasant old town of Chester, which we found full of 
interest. We walked round it on the walls, and saw 
everything in its neighborhood, especially the exquisite 
old cemetery, which was charmingly situated in a vast, 
irregular cavity which had been made in the sandstone 
from which the walls and the buildings of the old town 
had been taken. We thought it the most beautiful 
cemetery we had ever seen, and we think so still, after 
having seen very many others in every part of Europe. 

Chester is entirely unlike every other town we visited. 
On each side of most of the streets, the passage for 
ladies is raised eight or nine feet above the ground, and 
all the pleasant shops open along it, leaving the en- 
trances below for fuel and all other heavy or disagreeable 
supplies. 

The views from the walls are extremely rich and 
varied, and interesting for the very important events 



AN OLD TEACHER. 99 

that have occurred in this neighborhood for man}' 3'ears, 
an account of which would fill many a volume. 

We examined with interest the old cathedral, as we 
did afterwards nearly all the best, old, as well as the 
comparatively new cathedrals, in eveiy part of the 
island. 

We carefully examined every part of old Haddon 
Hall, which gave a ver} T satisfactory idea of the buildings 
of former times ; and then drove to Chatsworth, by way 
of the park, in which there were said to be sixteen hun- 
dred deer, besides many other animals. The oaks, 
beeches, ashes, limes, thorns, and chestnuts are mag- 
nificent. The house itself is a statelj T palace, to describe 
the entrance hall, the staircases, passages, galleries, 
and state-rooms of which would require a volume. So 
the gardens and grounds. Here were all the pines then 
known. The glass house, seventy feet high, was full of 
exotics, the largest and rarest that have been collected, 
a cocoa-palm seventy feet high, sago-trees, dracaanas, 
cactuses, black and yellow cane-poles, all as luxuriant 
as if growing in their natural fatbitat. The collection 
of ferns was vast and wonderful. 

The rock-work, all artificial and all seeming natural ; 
the cascades and jets d'eau, the French gardens so 
exact, the Italian so stately and magnificent, the Eng- 
lish, so surpassing eve^thing else ! Among the many 
gardens we saw afterward, we saw nothing superior to 
this, and we saw all that were most famons, and every- 
thing most interesting in the island. 

In Cambridge I saw the room in which Milton is said 
to have dwelt when an undergraduate, " Lycidas " and 
other things in his own handwriting, and the ruinous 
old mulberry- tree which he is said to have planted. 

LQFC. 



100 REMINISCENCES OF 

At London we saw the Crystal Palace and its won- 
ders ; in Paris, a great show that they called the Expo- 
sition, containing everything most beautiful and most 
characteristic of the fine arts, especially those that are 
interesting to ladies of the most delicate tastes. 

In Paris I beard many admirable lectures by distin- 
guished men, on a great variety of subjects. We saw a 
large part of France. Nothing was more interesting than 
the forest, extending more than a hundred miles along 
the southwest coast and from six to eighteen into the in- 
terior, formed by the skill and sagacity of an individual 
influencing the action of the French government ; and 
nothing more delightful than the journey by land, 
along the coast of the Gulf of Genoa. We spent four 
months in Rome, long enough to see everything most 
interesting in the city and its neighborhood, and to be- 
come acquainted with all the plants. Not less pleasant 
was the journey to Naples, and all that is worth seeing 
in the city and its bay and Vesuvius, and the infi- 
nitely beautiful neighborhood. The fear of robbers did 
not prevent our seeing Psestum and the remains of the 
old Greek temples. The seat of trade and most exten- 
sive commerce for some centuries in old Psestum would 
have rewarded us for travelling any road, and we reached 
it by the most beautiful road in Europe. 



AN OLD TEACHER. 1Q1 



CHAPTER XIV. 

FOREST TREES: AN ADDRESS TO COUNTRY LADIES. 

rT^HE forest is commonly regarded as of value, 
JL because it affords materials for ship-building, for 
domestic architecture, for fuel, and for various useful 
and ornamental arts. But there are higher uses of the 
forest. More precious than the useful arts and more 
beautiful than the fine arts is the art of making home 
happy, — happy for children and wife and friends, happy 
for one's self, where all the wants of our nature may be 
gratified and satisfied, — not only those which belong to 
the body and the mind, but those which belong to the 
affections and the spirit, — not only the want of food and 
clothing and shelter and the other material wants, but 
those which are brought into existence by our love of 
the good and the beautiful. In every Christian home 
these tastes should be cherished as sources of deeper 
and serener happiness, more real, more permanent, and 
more independent of the freaks of fortune than an} T - 
thing which mere money can procure. Of the materials 
for building this happ}^ home, next to those charities 
and graces which spring from the principles of the gos- 
pel and are nourished by the side of the domestic altar, 
next to that art of conversation which is the most pre- 
cious fruit of a cultivated intellect and the source of 



102 REMINISCENCES OF 

unbounded delights, and to that love of reading which 
opens all the treasures of knowledge and wisdom to 
him who has it, — next to these, and their proper com- 
panion and complement, is the love of the beautiful in 
nature. 

Nothing furnishes a larger, a more varying, or a more 
unfailing gratification to this love of beauty than the 
forest, and the New England forest is far richer than 
that of any part of Europe north of Italy. At all times 
the forest is full of exquisite beauty ; and the forest and 
the garden are the schools in which the first lessons in 
the perception and enjoyment of beauty are to be learned. 
The cultivated fields, alternating with wood and mow- 
ing lands and pastures, orchards and gardens and 
dwelling-houses and barns, herds and flocks, the colors 
and shapes and motions of birds, — how beautiful ! And 
with what infinite beauty are fraught the changing 
clouds, the sky with its deep expanse of blue, the colors 
going and coming, varying from morning till night, the 
purple mists on the hills, the coming on of twilight and 
darkness, with its hosts of stars, — what a loss to every 
creature capable of this never-ceasing, exhaustless en- 
jo} T ment, what a loss not to have the capacity awak- 
ened ! 

A capacity for the enjoyment of this beauty is nearly 
universal. By cultivating it we shall awaken a suscep- 
tibility for the higher moral and spiritual beauty which 
also everywhere is near us. I suppose that nature's 
beauty was intended to train the eye and the heart for 
this higher. 

The sources of beauty in the forest are inexhaustible. 
Each mass of trees of one kind is an element of dis- 



AN OLD TEACHER. 103 

tinct and separate beauty. Each has its own shape, 
its own colors, its own character. How unlike in all 
these particulars are an elm and an oak ! Not less 
unlike are two forests made up chiefly, the one of elms, 
the other of oaks. 

Nearly allied to the elms, when seen in masses, are 
the ostrj^a or hop- hornbeam, the carpinus or hornbeam, 
and the celtis or nettle-tree and hackberry. Of the 
same character with the oaks are the chestnuts, and 
somewhat nearly, the beeches. But how different is a 
mass of linden-trees ! Entirely unlike each of these 
and each other are the birches and poplars, when seen 
growing together in numbers ; the birches grading down 
with alders, on one side, and connected by the ostrya 
with the oaks, on another. 

A different element of landscape beauty are the wil- 
lows, and a still more different the tupelos. A grove 
of liriodendrons or tulip-trees has an aspect quite dif- 
ferent from that of any other forest trees. 

The pines, wholly dissimilar in their effect from any 
of the trees with deciduous leaves, form among them- 
selves several groups as unlike each other as the elms 
and the oaks. The true pines, the pitch pine, the white 
and the Norway, form one strikingly natural group. Yet 
how unlike are the separate members ! How different 
the appearance of a forest of pitch pines and of one of 
white pines ! The larches form another group not less 
distinct; the firs and spruces, another; the cedars and 
arbor-vitaes, another, and the hemlocks, more beautiful 
than all, still another. 

We see the cause of these different effects when we 
come to study the individual trees. What an image of 



104 REMINISCENCES OF 

strength and majesty is an oak ! An old chestnut 
hardly less. In the beech the character is softened into 
a kindly, domestic beauty. A beech, with its clean 
bark and rich, lasting leaves, glistening in the sun's 
light, should be near a home for children to play under 
and women to admire. What majestic grace in the 
American elm, whether it spread abroad its arms in 
a gradual upward curve, bending down again at their 
extremities and almost reaching the ground, forming 
deep, vaulted arches of shade, or whether it rise in an 
unbroken column to seventy or a hundred feet, and 
there form an urn- shaped head, or a Grecian cup, or a 
light, feathery plume ! 

With what queenly stateliness rises the hickory, left, 
by the native taste of the proprietor, in some green 
field sloping down to the Nashua in Lancaster, or on 
some other pleasant stream of the Atlantic slope in 
New England ! Of the four or five species of this 
beautiful tree a natural group is formed, interfering 
with no other, and including in its outer limits the 
black- walnut and the butternut, by which it is allied in 
its characteristics to the oaks, though still so remote. 

The maples, giving their peculiar splendor to our 
mountains and river-sides, would form still another alli- 
ance. The rich colors of their spray in the early 
days of spring and of their leaves as they ripen in 
autumn are not its only claims to admiration. What 
hopeful vigor in the aspiring trunk of a }oung rock- 
maple ! What dignity in the loftiness of the ancient 
tree ! 

I know of nothing more delicately graceful than the 
pensile spray of the fragrant birch, whether decked 



AN OLD TEACHER. 105 

with its golden catkins in April, or its light-green leaves 
at midsummer. So the silvery flash from the stem of 
a yellow birch, how charmingly it mingles with the 
lights and shadows of the depths of a forest ! How 
startling, almost, is the effect of the gleam of white 
light from the bark of the canoe birch or the white or 
gray birch, in the same situation ! 

How magnificent the vast, columnar trunk of one of 
the few old plane-trees, or button- woods, which some 
unexplained disease or plague has left us ! 

What beauty is there in the manner in which the 
climbing plants, the drapery of the forest, are disposed ! 
The trunks within the wood are occupied by a great 
variety of closely adhering epiphytes, lichens, which 
form upon the bark a thin crust or a delicate mossiness, 
or a brown, orange, yellow, or white star, — a study of 
themselves. The lichens which invest the bark of our 
birches, beeches, maples, and some other trees in the 
interior of the forest, are very curious. They seem, 
like strange Oriental writing, to have been formed by a 
delicate pen or brush, or a still more delicate graver. 
Such are the opegraphas. Not less beautiful are the 
finely dotted or stippled lecideas, lecanoras, and the 
starlike parmelias. 

But on the edge of the forest, where the sun gets in, 
the climbers arrange themselves, like a curtain, to shut 
out the glare of day from the awful silence and sanctity 
of the deep recesses of the wood. 

Where rather than in the forest are the simplest ele- 
ments of beamty — color, form, and motion — to be 
studied ? In the spring, every tree has its own shade 
of green, and these shades are changing, day by day 



106 REMINISCENCES OF 

and hour by hour, till they pass into the fall, deep greens 
of summer, and thence in autumn into the rich reds, 3-el- 
lows, scarlets, crimsons and orange tints of the maples, 
tupelos, oaks, and birches, the purples and olives of the 
ash and beech, and the browns and buffs of the hackma- 
tack, the hickor}% and the elm. Not only the leaves, 
but the branches and trunks of all the trees have colors, 
— neutral tints, of their own. The forms are not less 
various, nor the motions, from the shivering of the 
leaves to the swaying and balancing of trunks and 
branches in the wind, — to say nothing of the colors 
and shapes and motions of birds and other animals best 
seen in the forest, with the reflected images in the 
lakes and streams. The combination of trees, and 
their contrasts in shape and character, their position on 
a plain or on the slope or summit of a hill ; broad 
masses upon the side of a mountain, or covering its 
top, with wide or narrow glades losing themselves in 
their depths, and the play of light and shadow, in the 
sunshine or under a cloudy sky ; the interchange of 
cultivated grounds and wild woods, and the grouping 
of trees, are circumstances by the study of which the 
student may be prepared to understand and to enjoy art 
as exhibited by the painter or the poet, as well as by 
the landscape gardener. 

Sir Uvedale Price would have us stud}' the works of 
the painters to form just ideas of the beautiful and the 
picturesque in scenery, — a pleasant study doubtless for 
those who have the means. But why not rather study 
the elements of beauty where Claude and Poussin and 
Salvator Rosa studied, in the forest, by the lake or 
waterfall, and by the sea? To the originals or to copies 






AN OLD TEACHER. 



107 



of the great paintings we may not easily find access ; 
but the originals of the originals are within reach of all 
of us. 

Where else but in the forest did Shakespeare get that 
wild-wood spirit which makes us feel the airs and the 
very sounds of the woods breathing about us in "As 
You Like It"? Where else but beneath the " verdant 
roof," under "venerable columns," 

" Massy and tall and dark," 
or in 

" Quiet valley and shaded glen," 

does Bryant refresh himself with pictures of early 
years, and forget 

" The eating cares of earth "? 

The forest thus affords us inexhaustible means of 
giving variety and beauty to the face of the country ; 
and every person may avail himself of them from him 
who owns a single acre to him who has a thousand. 

The planter is a painter on a vast scale, with the 
plains and slopes and hills of a township or a county 
for his canvas, all the colors of vegetable life for his 
tints, and real clouds, real rainbows, and real rocks, 
streams, and lakes for his background. Every tree 
has not only its own shape and outline, but its own 
shades and colors, always preserving the same general 
character, but varying in its hues and tintings from 
earliest spring to latest autumn, and yet with an 
undertone fixed, or but slightly changing, through the 
year. 

Every mass of trees, of one kind, has the shapes 
and colors of the individual tree intensified by grouping, 



108 REMINISCENCES OF 

and brought into strong relief by brighter lights and 
deeper shadows. 

The painter has thus for his pallet fifty marked and 
decided colors, with the power of modifying each by 
the introduction of any one or of any number of all 
the rest ; and combined with these leading and sub- 
stantive features are the forms and colors of all the 
numerous vines and climbers of our woods, which are 
continually modifying the impression of the branches 
and of the outline, — the lichens which spot or shade the 
trunks with colors ga} r or grave, the tracery of mosses, 
and the characteristic trailing plants and ferns which 
show themselves about the lowest part of the stem. 

Of shrubs, he has a choice not less ample, both in 
color and shape, from the whortleberry, which rises a 
few inches from the ground, up through ledums, rodoras, 
andromedas, kalmias, sweet-ferns, candleberry myrtle, 
rhododendrons, azaleas, cornels, viburnums, dwarf 
oaks, the mountain and Pennsylvania maples, the glau- 
cous magnolia, and how many others, till the impercep- 
tible line is passed which separates shrubs from trees. 

To each point in the picture he may give the color, 
the prominence, and the expression which shall most 
fitly belong to it, and shall best harmonize or contrast, 
with the recesses and projections, the forms and hues 
around. Much may be done to give breadth and extent. 
The apparent height of low hills may be increased b}- 
planting them with trees of gradually loftier stature, 
the summit being crowned with the tallest trees of the 
forest. To the perfect level of a plain may be given, 
by a similar selection, the appearance of an undulating 
or varying surface. 



AN OLD TEACHER. 109 

By the careful study of its character, every tree may 
be displa}'ed to the greatest advantage. Spiry trees 
may be planted in the vicinity of steeples and other tall 
buildings, not to conceal, but to bring them forward ; 
picturesque trees, with climbers and striking shrubbe^, 
ma} 7 be planted along steep slopes ; and quiet, round- 
headed, or drooping trees ma} r clothe the low-lying sides 
of a lake or river. The various trees may be thrown 
into obscurity or brought prominently forward by their 
position in reference to roads and paths. These may 
be laid out so as to give the appearance, with the real- 
ity, of subserviency to mere convenience, or, when 
leading up into the woods, to favor the impression of 
wildness and intricacy so pleasing to the imagination. 

To get command of the materials for this form of 
landscape painting, the student must go into the forest, 
not only every day in spring, but he must go in mid- 
summer and in midwinter, and every day of autumn. 
He must study in the open glades and in the thickets, 
and he must look at the forest at a distance. He must 
learn the peculiar character of each tree standing by 
itself, and of the trees of each species, as seen grow- 
ing together in masses ; and he must watch the effects 
produced by the combination and various grouping of 
the several trees ; how they are affected by the vicinage 
of rocks and of water, and howb} r climbing vines, fan- 
tastic roots, and other accidents of landscape. 

Consider for a moment the changes which will take 
place in a forest just planted. Suppose that it occupies 
the summit of a hill and runs along down its side, accom- 
panying the path of a brook, which is known formerly 
to have had a voice of music through the year, but 



HO REMINISCENCES OF 

which has, of late years, failed to be heard, from the 
improvident felling of the trees which once covered the 
hill. We have had it planted with larches and other 
deciduous trees and with evergreens ; and we hope to 
live to see it make a conspicuous figure in the land- 
scape. For the first few years it is beautiful chiefly to 
the eye of hope. The fences or hedges intended to 
screen the young trees from the sun and winds are the 
most prominent objects. But even in these earliest 
years, a walk to the hill will be well rewarded by the 
sight of the visible progress which many of the young 
nurslings have made. Every spot unusually protected 
or unusually moist will offer points of emerald green 
more beautiful and more precious to the e}*e of the 
planter than jewels. In the autumn, some of these 
spots will send out a brilliant gleam of scarlet or 
orange or purple. 

In a few years more — a strangely short time — some 
of these trees will be distinctly visible at a distance, at 
all seasons, and will assume an individual character. 
They will overtop the fences and attract and fix the 
eye. The little rill will prolong its winter life further 
and further into the spring and summer. Its windings 
will be marked by greener grass and more flourishing 
young trees, and by the wild flowers which will have 
gone back to their native haunts, and the eye will glide 
pleasantly along its course to a river, or till it is lost in 
the distance. The outline of the hill will be changed 
from a tame, monotonous curve into one fringed and 
broken with inequalities, becoming every year more 
decided. The hill itself will become taller, wilder, and 
larger ; and the forest, of which only the nearer side 



AN OLD TEACHER. \\\ 

will be seen, will stretch in imagination over distant 
plains and hills beyond the limits of vision. The 
stream will have resumed its never-ceasing course, and 
the naiad her continuous song. The fences will have 
become long since unnecessar} 7 and will have disap- 
peared, and the sun's light will lie upon a sheltered 
field by the edge of the wood. Pains have been taken, 
in planting this hill, to avoid straight lines as the limit, 
and to let deep angles, securing sheltered lots favorable 
for tillage, cut into the forest. This, as the trees come 
to maturity, will allow the eye to penetrate into these 
pleasant nooks between woods on either hand. 

The kinds of trees best suited to forest planting will 
depend on the object the planter has in view. If that 
be ship-timber, for a future generation, oaks, pines, 
and larches will be planted, native and foreign. If his 
object be to furnish materials for domestic architecture, 
he will plant trees of the various tribes of pines. If 
it be materials for furniture and the arts, he will plant 
maples, birches, walnuts and hickories, lindens, alders, 
ashes and chestnuts, beeches, willows, cherry-trees and 
tulip-trees. If his object be the beauty of the land- 
scape, he will plant or sow all the species of our na- 
tive trees, shrubs, climbers, and under-shrubs, — oaks, 
ashes, tulip-trees, chestnuts, birches, with various kinds 
of pines and hemlocks upon the heights ; elms, plane- 
trees, pines, and some of the poplars on low hills or 
parts of the plain to which seeming elevation is to be 
given ; lindens and walnuts, the black, the European, 
and the butternut, upon the slopes ; alders and willows, 
tupelos and river poplars, the red and the black birch, 
the white cedar and arbor-vita?, along streams ; the 



112 REMINISCENCES OF 

cherry-trees and thorns, the several species of cornus, 
locusts, robinias, gleditzias, and acacias, elders, wild 
pears, and wild apple-trees, and whatever else has 
showy blossoms, along the edges most fully presented 
to view ; birches, hornbeams and hop-hornbeams, the 
nettle-tree and the hackberry, elms of all kinds, pop- 
lars, native and foreign, beeches and ashes, pines and 
other evergreens, maples and oaks, everywhere. 

Important questions, and worth}' of careful and 
mature consideration, are, What trees are best suited to 
ornament the lawn ; what best to be near a dwelling- 
house, where a family wants one tree, or a few, for 
beauty and shade, but has not room for many? What 
should be left or planted in pastures, for the comfort 
and health of sheep and cattle, and what are most 
ornamental and most suitable for public squares, large 
or small, and what for the sides of a road in the coun- 
try, or a street in a city or town ? 

Every tree is more or less beautiful. Every tree is a 
picture, varying in color, in freshness, in softness or 
brilliancy, in light and shade, in outline, in motion, in 
all the accidents of vegetable life, through all the sea- 
sons and all the hours, from the beginning to the end 
of the year. Every long-lived tree of the taller sorts, 
such as oaks, elms, beeches, ashes, pines, may become 
a picture for many generations of the children of men, — 
a precious heirloom full of pleasant associations, and 
hallowed with the memories of parents and grand-par- 
ents, or of children early lost or long gone away never 
to return. 

Every species of tree has its own peculiar inhabi- 
tants. Each is the favorite resort of particular birds, 



AN OLD TEACHER. H3 

which prefer to build their nests in it, or if they build 
elsewhere, like to come and sing in its branches. Each 
species has its own insects, beautiful and friendly, or 
hostile ; its own epiphytes and parasites, lichens on its 
bark or dependent from its branches, and mosses and 
fungous plants which live upon its trunk or on its leaves 
in health or in decay. 

The grandest of trees, in our climate, is the oak, and 
none will more generously repay every care which is 
bestowed upon it, or more surely carry our remem- 
brance clown to future generations, as it is the longest 
lived. There are many different species in America, 
all distinguished for different excellences. There are 
twelve well known as growing naturally in Massachu- 
setts, and there are probably others ; certainly there 
are others in New England. Several from the West of 
Europe thrive here, and doubtless many from Asia, and 
from other parts of America, would grow well here. 
Our native species deserve our first attention. 

The most valuable for the forest and the most mag- 
nificent for the lawn is the white oak, nearly allied to 
the European white oak. For the lawn, therefore, it is 
first to be chosen. The objection to the white oak as a 
roadside tree is, that it takes up too much space \ when 
allowed to grow unrestrained, it stretches out its vast 
arms to. too great a distance on every side. We want, 
for roads and streets, trees which will afford shade, but 
which will lift up their arms out of the way. If we 
take an oak, it must be the chestnut oak, or the rock 
chestnut oak, or the scarlet. If we take an elm, it 
must be, for narrow streets, the English elm. The 
white oak is admirabty suited, better than any other 



114 REMINISCENCES OF 

tree, to the corner of a common, or a point where three 
roads meet at a large angle. In such a situation it will 
be able to develop its sublime qualities, and, in a cent- 
ury or two, will become the most venerable natural object 
in the county. * 

The red oak becomes a very large tree, grows rapidly, 
is very hardy, makes a fine head, has large, brilliant 
leaves, and a trunk which retains its youthful appear- 
ance very long. 

The scarlet oak is a middle-sized tree, which recom- 
mends itself by its deeply cut and delicatel}' shaped 
and polished leaves, and the rich colors they assume in 
autumn. There is no stiffness about the tree, and 
every individual of a long row would have its own 
shape and outline. This, however, is true of all the 
oaks. 

A tree, found in the southern part of New England, 
in Massachusetts and Connecticut, and which recom- 
mends itself strongl}' by its size, its port, and the 
beauty of its leaves, and its large acorn-cups, is the 
over-cup white oak, seldom seen and therefore little 
known, but well deserving to be introduced everywhere 
upon the lawn or along the roadside. 

The post oak is a small tree of some beauty, remark- 
able for the star-like shape of its leaves. 

Some of the European oaks are worthy of cultiva- 
tion ; the two varieties of the English oak, both of 
which grow perfectly well with us, and the Turkey oak, 
nearty approaching to an evergreen. 

It is not necessaiy to say a word about the American 
elm. Everybody knows it, and it is the only tree that 
most people do know. It speaks for itself. 



AN OLD TEACHER. n§ 

The tulip-tree unites mar^ qualities as an ornamen- 
tal tree. It is beautiful when young, from the agree- 
able color of its bark, and its large, peculiar leaves. 
It is a rapid grower. It rises to a great height, and 
has fine, showy flowers and fruit, and it is wholly unlike 
all the other trees of our forest, — the only one of the 
magnolia family large enough to make much show. 

A more picturesque tree, in its old age, very oak-like 
in its character, is the chestnut, which is hardy, grows 
more rapidly than most deciduous trees, and has a splen- 
dor of vigor and life scarcely surpassed. Its masses of 
starry yellow blossoms are conspicuous in snmmer, long 
after the blossoms of all other trees have disappeared. 

The hackberry, when in perfection, has almost the 
grandeur of the oak, with something of the grace of 
the elm. 

The Norway maple, and that which we get from Eng- 
land, where it is called sycamore, are valuable trees. 
The former stands against the northern blasts and the 
sea breezes better than almost airy other tree. All our 
American maples should be seen on the lawn. They 
are unsurpassed in brilliancy and variety of color in 
autumn. The red maple, and the river or white, have 
too decided a tendency to spread, to be highly recom- 
mended for the sides of streets and roads. The rock 
maple is the best and finest of the tribe. It soars to 
the loftiest height, and wants nothing in shape or vari- 
ety and brillianc3 T of color. It grows perfectly in a 
clayey soil. 

The beech is perfectly well suited to stand near a 
house. It is alwa}'s beautiful, has a clean stem, and 
bright, polished, glossy leaves, glancing spiritedly in 



116 REMINISCENCES OF 

the sun. It comes out earl}- and retains its delicately 
colored leaves very late, and has showy blossoms and 
sweet nuts. It is said not to attract the electric fluid, 
and therefore is not struck lyy lightning, and is not as 
liable as most trees to be browsed upon b} T cattle. 

These two last qualities recommend it as particularly 
suitable to be planted in a pasture. Humanity, not 
less than enlightened econon^, requires that shade be 
provided for the herds and flocks in their pastures. A 
few beeches, beautiful to the eye, will shelter them from 
the sun, and invite them to repose, instead of wander- 
ing. Other trees adapted to this purpose are lindens 
and maples. Beautiful pasture trees are all the species 
and varieties of the hickory. In deep soils they get 
much of their food from a point below the roots of the 
grasses, and therefore interfere little with a mowing 
field or pasture. They are also well suited for the 
sides of roads, as their tendenc} 7 ' is not to form large 
lower limbs. They are thought to be peculiarly difficult 
to transplant ; and so they are when taken from the 
forest or its neighborhood, but when properly managed 
in a nursery, their tendency to depend almost entirely 
upon the tap-root being corrected by judicious priming 
of the root, they ma}^ be removed as safely as any 
other tree. 

Would it not be worth while to take some pains to 
propagate more extensively a tree which bears so valu- 
able a fruit as the shagbark? 

Among middle-sized trees may be mentioned the sas- 
safras, recommending itself by its curiously lobed, 
sweet leaves, its blossoms, and its striking fruits ; the 
hornbeam, for the fine color of its fluted trunk and its 



AN OLD TEACHER. H7 

handsome leaves ; the hop-hornbeam for the softness of 
its foliage ; the locust, not alwa} r s a low tree, for its 
soft, satin}- leaves, and fragrant, showy flowers, and the 
endless variet}' of its outline. 

As in proper keeping with the regularity of a street, 
we may choose trees of regular and somewhat formal 
and monotonous beauty, such as the linden, and, when 
there is room enough, the horse-chestnut, or the red 
maple, or the river maple. 

Many people, with a sentiment for beautj', but with 
little cultivation of taste, are delighted with mere sym- 
metiy in a tree. To such persons, a row of lindens 
will give great pleasure, on account of their S3'mmetri- 
cal regularity, while the depth of shade and of color, 
and the fragrance of the blossoms of the English tree, 
recommend it to all. 

The black-walnut and the butternut are sometimes 
planted for their fruit along enclosures, so as to serve, 
at the same time, for shade to travellers. Both these 
and the European walnut might be planted for these 
purposes still more extensive^. They are all shade 
trees ; and in comparison with other nations of equal 
intelligence, we value too little the pleasant additions 
which the fruits of these trees make to the dessert, and 
to the economical produce of those who cultivate them. 

The wild black cheny unites in a remarkable degree 
all the qualities which should recommend it for the for- 
est, the lawn, and the avenue. It is a hard}', rapid 
grower, of shapel}' trunk and beautiful bark, leaves, 
and flowers ; it bears a valuable fruit ; its wood is hard 
and durable, and suited at once to the uses of the 
joiner and the cabinet-maker ; and it is so attractive 



113 REMINISCENCES OF 

to many insects as to draw them away from the more 
valuable fruit trees. Yet it is improvidently destroyed 
wherever it is found growing, from a belief that it 
actually creates injurious insects. It seems to do this 
only because it draws them away from the trees of the 
orchard, and concentrating them, gives the cultivator 
the opportunity of destroying them at once on one 
tree. 

Few people have ventured to plant pines as shade 
trees on the sides of roads. The white pine is, how- 
ever, well suited to this purpose. It is a rapid grower. 
Its lower branches ma}' be removed with safety, and it 
has a fine, symmetrical head. One of the most impos- 
ing rows of trees I have ever seen in this country is a 
row of tall old white pines in North Berwick in Maine. 
When all its branches are permitted to grow, the white 
pine furnishes a better protection against the winds in 
winter than any deciduous tree. 

When there is room for them to grow to their full 
development, several of the firs and spruces, and the 
common hemlock, are excellent for roadsides. But 
the} 7 must have ample space, as their beauty is de- 
stroyed by cutting away the lower branches. 

The various species of nyssa, peppericlge, or tupelo 
tree have rarely been cultivated as shade trees or for 
ornament. Yet no other tree in our forests has such 
resplendent leaves ; none is so brilliantly green in sum- 
mer, and none is more vividly scarlet and reel and pur- 
•ple in autumn. And in its port it is altogether peculiar. 
Its fault is that its leaves fall early, and its brilliancy is 
transient. 

The attention of cultivators has been so exclusively 



AN OLD TEACHER. 119 

fixed upon the valuable properties of the thorns as 
hedge plants, that they have often failed to perceive or 
to recognize their great variety of beauty for the lawn. 

In Scotland and in the northern continental countries 
of Europe, the beauty of the birch is felt and has often 
been sung. The poorest of our birches is almost as 
good as the European birch, while the latter is young ; 
and we have three others, all far more beautiful at all 
ages, the yellow birch, the black birch, and the canoe 
birch. They are unsurpassed in the delicacy of their 
outline, in the graceful sweep of their branches, in the 
vivid play of the sun's rays upon their leaves, and in 
the charming motions and colors of their pendulous 
flower-tassels in spring, at a season when most other 
trees give few signs of life. Tender and delicate as 
the}' seem, the}' are all singularly hardy, and swift and 
sure growers, even in the most exposed situations. The 
vegetable world does not offer a group of more grace- 
ful trees. 

The plane-trees, Oriental and Occidental, or the 
European plane and our button-wood tree, form a pillar 
of vast size and strength, free from limbs near the 
ground, and admirably adapted to avenues and road- 
sides. In moist ground no other tree will make so 
conspicuous a figure. Its immense columnar trunk 
and large leaves took the fane}' of the ancient Greeks, 
who preferred it above all other trees ; and the Romans 
in this, as in other matters of taste, followed the Greeks. 



120 REMINISCENCES OF 



CHAPTER XV. 

WHAT WE OWE TO LOUIS AGASSIZ AS A TEACHER. 

An Address before the Boston Society of Natural History, 
January 7, 1874. 

Mr. President: — 

I THANK you for the great honor you do me by invit- 
ing me to say something before and in behalf of 3'our 
society, in commemoration of the most distinguished 
naturalist that has appeared among us. You know 
how reluctantly I consented to speak, and I feel how 
inadequately I shall be able to represent the society. 
Yet I cannot but admit that there is some apparent pro- 
priety in your request. I was one of those who formed 
this society. All the others who first met are gone : 
Dr. B. D. Greene, Dr. J. Ware, F. C. Gray, and the 
rest, and my old friend, Dr. Walter Channing, in whose 
office most of the first meetings were held. Moreover, 
while I was in the seat you now occup3 T , it was agreed 
by my associates that it was very proper and desirable 
that a survey of the State, botanical and zoological, 
should be made, to complete that begun by Prof. Hitch- 
cock in geology. At their request, I presented to Gov. 
Everett a memorial suggesting this. 

Our suggestion was graciousty received. Gov. Ever- 



AN OLD TEACHER. 121 

ett brought the subject before the Legislature, in which 
some friends of natural history in the House of Rep- 
resentatives had already been acting toward the same 
end ; an appropriation was made, and he was authorized 
to appoint a commission for that purpose. On that 
commission four members of this societ} 1 - were placed, 
the reports of three of whom, Dr. Harris, Dr. Gould, 
and Dr. Storer, have been, and still continue to be, 
considered of signal and permanent value, and Mr. 
Agassiz himself regarded them as among the best 
reports ever made. It has given and still gives me the 
greatest satisfaction to know that the society has been 
continually going forward, and that it is now more 
prosperous than ever. 

A little more than twemy-seven years ago, as I was 
sitting in my study, a message came to me that two 
gentlemen desired to see me. They were immediately 
admitted, and Dr Gould introduced me to Louis Agas- 
siz. His noble presence, the genial expression of his 
face, his beaming eye and earnest, natural voice at once 
gained me, and I responded cordially to his introduc- 
tion. He said, " I have come to see 3-011, because Dr. 
Gould tells me that }'Ou know the trees of Massachu- 
setts ; I wish to be made acquainted with the hickory. 
I have found the leaves and fruit of several species in 
the Jura Mountains, w r here they were deposited when 
those mountains were formed ; but since that time none 
have been found living in Europe. I want to know 
them as the} T are now growing." 

I told him that I knew all the species found in New 
England, and should be glad to show them to him. 
"But I have," I said, " presently to begin my morn- 



|22 REMINISCENCES OF 

ing's work. If you will let me call on you immediately 
after dinner, I shall be glad to take yon to them." 

At the time fixed I called on him at his lodgings, 
and took him in my chaise, first to Parker's Hill, where 
one species of hickory grew, then through Brookline, 
Brighton, and Cambridge, where two others were found, 
and to Chelsea, where a fourth and one that might be a 
variet} T , were growing. I pointed out the character- 
istics of each species in growth, branching, bark, fruit, 
and leaves, and especially in the buds. He listened 
with the most captivating attention, and expressed sur- 
prise at my dwelling upon the peculiarities of the buds. 
"I have never known the buds to be spoken of as a 
characteristic," said he; "that is new to me." He 
admitted the distinct peculiarities of structure in the 
buds, and I have no doubt remembered every word I 
said, for, a few months afterwards, I saw in a news- 
paper that Mr. Agassiz would give a lecture, in Rox- 
buiy, on the buds of trees. 

We drove on to Chelsea Beach, which stretches off 
several miles, apparently without end, and as the tide 
was very low, was then nearly a quarter of a mile 
wide. He was charmed with everything, expressing 
his pleasure with all the earnestness of a happy child, 
hardly able to restrain himself in his admiration and 
delight. He told me that he had never before been on 
a sea-beach, but that he was familiar with the wave- 
marks on the old beaches laid open in the Jura Moun- 
tains. 

I need not say what a pleasant drive this was. I had 
long felt great interest in various departments of natu- 
ral history, but had been so fully occupied with my own 



AN OLD TEACHER. 123 

duties as a teacher that I had been able to indulge 
myself fully, and that for a small part of the year, in 
one only. Here was a companion who was intimately 
acquainted with all, and with the most, distinguished 
men who had been advancing them, and who was ready 
and happy to communicate wealth of information upon 
every point I could ask about. 

Some days after, I invited all the members of this 
society to meet Mr. Agassiz at nry house. Every one 
came that could come. The}- conversed very freely on 
several subjects, and Agassiz showed the fulness of his 
knowledge and his remarkable powers of instant obser- 
vation. All seemed to feel what a precious accession 
American science was to receive. 

Not long afterwards, Mr. Agassiz accepted an invi- 
tation to spend Christmas with us. We took some 
pains, ourselves and our children, among whom were 
then two bright bo}-s, full of fun and frolic, one in col- 
lege and one nearly prepared to enter. He was easily 
entertained, entering heartily, joyously, and hilariously 
into everything, games and all, as if he were still as 
young as the youngest, but full of feeling, and moved, 
even to tears, by some poor lines to him and his native 
land. 

M} r friends, I have thus shown you how intimate I 
became, for a few weeks, with Agassiz, whom I found 
the wisest, the most thoroughly well-informed and com- 
municative, the most warm-hearted and the most mod- 
est man of science with whom, personally or by his 
works, I had ever become acquainted. I did not keep 
up that intimate acquaintance, both because 1 was too 
busy in my own work, and because I did not deem 



124 REMINISCENCES OF 

myself worthy to occupy so much of his time, conse- 
crated, as it was, to science and the good of mankind. 
The strong impression he made on me was made on 
almost all who ever listened to or even met him. It is 
not surprising then that the news of the death of Agas- 
siz caused a throb of anguish in millions of hearts. 
Such a death is a loss to mankind. What death among 
kings or princes in the Old World, or among the aspi- 
rants for power or the possessors of wealth in the New, 
could produce such deep-felt regret ? 

He is gone. We shall see his benignant face and 
hear his winning voice no more ; but we have before us 
his*example and his works. Let us dwell, for a few 
moments, on some features in his life and character, as 
an inspiration and a guide, especially to those who 
mean to devote their leisure or their life to natural his- 
tory, or to the great work of teaching. What a change 
has taken place in the whole civilized world, and espe- 
cially in this country, in men's estimation of the value 
and interest of these pursuits, since he began his 
studies. To whom is that change more due than to 
Agassiz ? 

He was endowed by nature with extraordinary gifts. 
His fascinating eye, his genial smile, his kindliness and 
ready S3'mpatlry, his generous earnestness, his simpli- 
cit} T , and absence of pretension, his transparent sin- 
cere , — these account for his natural eloquence and 
persuasiveness of speech, his influence as a man, and 
his attraction and power as a teacher. For the develop- 
ment and perfecting of many of his highest and most 
estimable qualities of mind and character, Mr. Agassiz 
was doubtless indebted to his noble mother, who, judg- 



AN OLD TEACHER. 



125 



ing from everything we can learn, was a very rare 
and remarkable woman. To the quiet, homely, house- 
hold duties, for which the Swiss women are distin- 
guished, she added unconsciously very uncommon 
mental endowments, which she wisely cultivated by 
extensive reading of the best authors and by conver- 
sation with the most intelligent persons. 

Trained by such a mother, Agassiz grew up in the 
belief of a Creator, an infinite and all- wise intelligence, 
author and governor of all things. He was sincerely 
and humbly religious. During his whole life, while 
exploring every secret of animal structure, he saw such 
wonderful consistency in every part that he never for a 
moment doubted that all were parts of one vast plan, 
the work of one infinite, all-comprehending thinker. 
He saw no place for accident, none for blind, unthink- 
ing brute or vegetable selection. Though he was a 
man of the rarest intellect, he was never ashamed to 
look upwards and recognize an infinitely higher and 
more comprehensive intellect above him. 

In his earliest years and through childhood he was 
surrounded by animals, — fishes, birds, and other crea- 
tures, — which he delighted to studj r , and with whose 
habits and forms he thus became perfectly familiar. 
His education, in all respects, was very generous and 
thorough. He spent his early years in some of the 
most distinguished schools and colleges in Germany ; 
and he had the good fortune to be made, early, a stu- 
dent of the two great languages of ancient times. He 
became familiar, by reading them in their native Greek, 
with the high thought and reasoned truth and graceful 
style of Plato, and the accurate observations and 



126 REMINISCENCES OF 

descriptions of Aristotle, the nicest observer of ancient 
times, and justly considered the father of natural his- 
tory. Probably no work has been more suggestive to him 
than Aristotle's " History of Animals " ; and probably 
his own breadth of conception and largeness of thought, 
upon the highest subjects, were due, in no inconsider- 
able degree, to his early familiarity with Plato. He 
also read some of the best Latin authors, and wrote 
the language with great ease. 

No one who early has the time and opportunity, and 
who desires to become a thorough naturalist, or a 
thinker on any subject, should neglect the study of 
these two languages. From them we borrow nearty all 
the peculiar terms of natural science, and find the origi- 
nals of almost all the words which we use in speaking t 
on ethical, metaphysical, sesthetical, and political sub- 
jects, and no one can be sure that he perfectly under- 
stands any of these words unless he knows them in 
their original language. 

I dwell upon this subject, because I believe that the 
early study of language, especially of the ancient lan- 
guages, is far too much undervalued. We use lan- 
guage, not only in our communication with others, but 
in our own thoughts. On all subjects of science, or 
whatever requires accurate thought, we think in words, 
and we cannot think, even within ourselves, upon any 
subject, without knowing the words to express our 
thoughts. He who is most fully and familiarly ac- 
quainted with the richest language and the thoughts 
that have been expressed by it, has the power of most 
easily becoming not only a good thinker, but an elo- 
quent speaker. No greater mistake can be made, in 



AN OLD TEACHER. 127 

the early education of the future naturalist, than the 
neglect to give him a full and familiar acquaintance 
with the words by which thought can be carried on or 
communicated.* 

Agassiz's mother-tongue was French, but both this 
and German were in common use in the Pays de Vaud. 
He lived, for years afterwards, in several parts of Ger- 
many, and thus attained, without special study, the 
rich language which we Americans have to give so much 
time to acquire ; and he lived long, a studious and labo- 
rious life in Paris, where he became intimate!}- ac- 
quainted with Cuvier and other distinguished natural- 
ists, and perfectly familiar with the French language in 
its best form. More than once, when he was putting 
his note-book into his pocket, he tolcl me he knew not 
whether he had made his notes in German or in French. 

Agassiz's universality of study and thought suggests 
a precious lesson. It is never safe to give one's self 
entirely to one study or to one course of thought. The 
full powers of the mind cannot so be developed. Nature 
is infinite ; and a small part of one kingdom cannot be 
understood, however carefully studied, without some 
knowledge of the rest. 

* It is a matter of the greatest satisfaction that the only true mode 
of learning language, the natural one, by word of mouth from liv- 
ing teachers, is becoming common; the language itself first, and 
afterwards the philosophy of it, — the rules. It is most desirable 
that this mode of learning the ancient languages should be intro- 
duced, to learn first the language, to read and understand it, and 
afterwards the rules. Indeed, I would not recommend the study 
even of Greek, if most or much of the time given to it had to be 
thrown away upon the grammar. The true mode, Agassiz's mode, 
of teaching on all subjects, is becoming more and more common. 



128 REMINISCENCES OF 

Neither must a man allow himself to be a mere natu- 
ralist. Every man ought to seek to form for himself, 
for his own happiness and enjoyment, the highest char- 
acter for intelligence, and for just and generous feeling, 
of which he is capable. He is not a mere student of a 
department of nature. He is a man ; he must make 
himself a wise, generous, and well-informed man, able 
to sympathize with all that is most beautiful in nature 
and art, and best in society. It would be a poor, dull 
world, if all men of talent were to educate themselves to 
be mere artisans, mere politicians, or mere naturalists. 

Agassiz took a large, comprehensive view of the 
whole field of natural history ; his thorough education 
and intimate acquaintance with the works of the high- 
est men in several walks, Von Martius, Cuvier, Hum- 
boldt, and others, made it possible for him to do it, 
and he then fixed on certain departments, and, for the 
time, he gave himself entirety to one. 

As a future inhabitant of America, it was fortunate 
for him to have been born, and to have grown up, in 
one of the free cantons of Switzerland. He was thus 
accustomed to treat men as equals ; and thus his per- 
fect familiarity and his freedom from all assumption 
were as natural to him as they were graceful and win- 
ning. He looked down upon none, but felt a S3'mpathy 
with everything best in every heart. The reality of 
these great human qualities gave a natural dignity 
which his hearty and ready laugh could never diminish. 
Every one was drawn toward him b}' what was best in 
himself. With the greatest gentleness he united a 
strong will, and with a resolute earnestness, untiring 
patience. His great object was truth, and as he never 



AN OLD TEACHER. 129 

had any doubt that it was truth, he may have been 
impatient, but he never felt really angry, with those who 
opposed it. 

Mr. Agassiz had, for several years, the great advan- 
tage and privilege of being an assistant, in the descrip- 
tion and delineation of fishes from Brazil, to Von Mar- 
tius, the genial and eloquent old man of Munich. In 
him he had the example of a man, who, with great 
resources as a naturalist, had, for many years, given 
himself, in a foreign country, to the study of a single 
department of botanj', without, however, shutting his 
eyes to anything that was new and remarkable in any 
page of natural history. To one who was a good lis- 
tener and never forgot what he heard, what a prepara- 
tion must this have been for his own expedition, many 
years after, to the sources of the Amazon, to which he 
was invited by the Emperor of Brazil, in which he was 
assisted by the princely aid of his own friends, and 
from which he brought home a greater number of new 
species of fresh-water fishes than were ever before dis- 
covered by one individual, thus carrying forward that 
work upon the fishes of Brazil, his first work, which he 
had published when he was twenty-two years old. 

He spent the leisure of several years in examining 
the reefs and dredging in the waters of the coast of 
Florida and other parts, always bringing home stores 
of new species and genera, and completing the history 
of innumerable known ones. What a preparation were 
these years for the great Hasler expedition, in which 
the depths of the ocean were very fully explored, and 
innumerable objects, new and old, were brought up, 
showing that the bottom of the ocean is anj-thing but 
9 



130 REMINISCENCES OF 

barren, and throwing new light upon the geology of 
recent and of ancient times ! 

Whenever Mr. Agassiz undertook a special work, he 
prepared himself for it by a careful study of whatever 
had been done in that particular line by all others. 
He had seen everywhere indications of the action of 
ice. He determined to investigate. He began by 
reading all he could find upon the subject, and then set 
himself to observe, patiently and carefully, witat was 
taking place in the glaciers themselves. He gave the 
leisure of several years to this examination, and then 
felt himself ready to observe the effects of similar action 
in former ages and distant regions. The opinions of 
such an observer, after such a preparation, cannot be 
without authority and value ; and it is not surprising 
that he should not himself have been willing to yield 
them to those of others who had never given the same 
study to the subject. 

When he wrote his wonderfully complete w T ork upon 
the American Testudinata, he began by studying what- 
ever had been written in regard to that family of ani- 
mals, and he furnished himself, by the liberal aid of 
man} 7 friends, with immense numbers of specimens, so 
that he had ample means of satisfying himself in regard 
to almost every question that could be asked as to 
structure * or habits. Such a work will not need to be 
done over again for many years. It can never be entirely 
superseded, except by a work showing greater diligence, 



* In speaking of the thorough execution of the works in the four 
volumes, we ought not to forget the aid he received from the exquis- 
ite skill in drawing and engraving of Sonrel, who wore out his eyes 
in the work, and of Burckhardt and Clark. 



AN OLD TEACHER. \o>l 

greater fidelity, and better powers of nice observation 
and faithful description. 

Let no one who has not carefully examined this, and 
his other papers in the " Contributions to the Natural 
History of the United States," venture to speak of his 
incompleteness. 

His example as a teacher has been of inestimable 
value, as showing the importance of the best and largest 
possible preparation, teaching by things really exist- 
ing and not by books, opening the eye to the richness 
and beauty of nature, showing that there is no spot, 
from the barren sea-beach to the top of the mountain, 
which does not present objects attractive to the young- 
est beginner, and worthy of and rewarding the careful 
consideration of the highest intellect. 

The town of Neufchatel, near which Mr. Agassiz 
was born, and particularly the hills behind it, give fine 
views of natural sceneiy. From a hill, not two miles 
from his former home, I had a view of the lake and the 
plains and the mountains be} T ond, which I now recall as 
one of the widest, most varied, and most exquisite I 
have ever seen. Agassiz thus grew up to a love of the 
beautiful. 

This love of the beautiful in nature has been increas- 
ing from the most ancient times to the present. It is 
more generally felt and more fully enjoyed now than 
ever before, and in this country, apparently, more than 
in any other. More persons leave the cities, as soon as 
they begin to grow warm and dust}', to enjoy the coun- 
try or the seaside, the mountains or the lakes ; and they 
enjoy rationally and heartily. Who has done more 
than Agassiz to increase this enjoyment? With thou- 



232 REMINISCENCES OF 

sands it is becoming not merely the enjoyment, but the 
study of the beautiful. Collections of shells, curious 
animals, minerals, sea-weeds, and flowers are becom- 
ing, like libraries, not only sources of pleasure to the 
eye, but of delightful study, whereby a nearer approach 
is made to the very fountain of enjoyment. We not 
only see and feel, we begin to understand. The more 
we see of the uses, of the wonders, of the structure, 
the more profound is our enjoyment. Who has done 
more than Agassiz to awaken this enjo} T ment ? 

In 1855, with the aid of Mrs. Agassiz, who, from the 
beginning, did a great deal of the work, Mr. Agassiz 
opened a school for young ladies. For this he was, in 
all respects, admirably well qualified. The charm of his 
manner, his perfect simplicity, sincerity, and warm- 
heartedness, attracted every pupil, and won her respect, 
love, and admiration. He knew, almost instinctively, 
what we teachers have to learn by degrees, — that we 
cannot really attract, control, and lead a child, and help 
to form his habits and character, without first loving 
him ; that nothing in the world is so powerful as real, 
disinterested affection. He gave himself, by lectures 
most carefully prepared, an hour's instruction, real 
instruction, every clay. All his pupils retain their 
respect and love for him, and some keep the notes 
they made of his talks, and read them with delight. 
The school was continued for seven years, with great 
success, attracting pupils from distant parts of the 
country. 

One of the secrets of his success as a teacher was, 
that he brought in nature to teach for him. The young 
ladies of a large school were amused at his simplicity 



AN OLD TEACHER. 133 

in putting a grasshopper into the hand of each, as he 
came into the hall ; but they were filled with surprise 
and delight, as he explained the structure of the insect 
before them, and a sigh of disappointment escaped 
from most of them when the lesson of more than an 
hour closed. He had opened their ej'es to see the 
beauty of the wonderful make of one of the least of 
God's creatures. What a lesson was this to 3'oung 
women preparing to be teachers in the public schools of 
the Commonwealth, showing that in every field might 
be found objects to excite, and, well explained, to 
answer the questions, what, and how, and why, which 
children will always be asking. 

He had all the elements necessary to an eloquent 
teacher, — voice, look, and manner, that instantly at- 
tracted attention ; an inexhaustible flow of language, 
always expressive of rich thoughts, strong common- 
sense, a thorough knowledge of all the subjects on 
which he desired to speak, a sympathy with others so 
strong that it became mignetic, and a feeling of the 
value of what he had to say, which became and created 
enthusiasm. He thus held the attention of his audi- 
ence, not only instructing and persuading them, but 
converting them into interested and admiring fellow- 
students. 

His mode of teaching, especially in his reacty use of 
the chalk and the blackboard, was a precious lesson to 
teachers. He appealed at once to the eye and to the 
ear, thus naturally forming the habit of attention, 
which it is so difficult to form by the study of books. 
Whoever learns this lesson will soon find that it is the 
teachers part to do the study, to get complete posses- 



134 REMINISCENCES OF 

sion of what is to be taught, in an}* subject, and how 
it is to be presented, while it is the part of the pupils 
to listen attentively and to remember. This the}* will 
easily do, and to show that the}* do remember, they 
may be easily led to give an account in writing of what 
they have heard. Every lesson will thus be not only 
an exercise of attention and memory, but a lesson in 
the English language, proper instruction in which is 
very much needed and very much neglected. When- 
ever a pupil does not fully understand, the teacher will 
have the opportunity, while he is at the blackboard, of 
enlarging and making intelligible. 

"Wherever the teacher shall be successful in adopting 
this true and natural mode of teaching, the poor text- 
books which now infest the country will be discon- 
tinued, and those who now keep school will become 
real teachers ; school-keeping will be turned into teach- 
ing. When this method is fairly introduced, we shall 
hear no more of long, hard lessons at home, nor of 
pupils from good schools who have not learned to write 
English. 

The advent of Agassiz is to be considered a most 
important event in the natural history of the country. 
The example of his character, his disinterestedness, 
his consecration to science, his readiness to oblige even 
the humblest and most modest, his superiority to self- 
interest, his sincerity and absence of all pretension, his 
enthusiasm in all that is noble,— all these recommended 
not only him, but the science he professed. Never was 
a life more richly filled with study, work, thought ; and 
all was consecrated, not to the benefit of himself, but 



AN OLD TEACHER. 135 

to the promotion of science for the good of his fellow- 
creatures. 

For many years Mr. Agassiz has seemed to live only 
for the advancement of natural history, by the building 
up of his Museum, for which he had collected materials 
of the greatest possible divershTy, which would, prop- 
erly cared for and arranged, form a museum superior 
in numbers and variety to any similar collection in the 
world. Shall this great work be allowed to fail? 

Let every person who honors the memory of Agassiz 
say, No ! Let every one who regrets that the great 
main support of the noble structure is taken away, 
resolve that it shall not fail, but that, so far as depends 
on him and what he can do, it shall go on and be 

BUILT AND FILLED, AND STAND FIRM, A GLORIOUS TEM- 
PLE OF SCIENCE FOREVER. 



136 REMINISCENCES OF 



CHAPTER XVI. 

FAKE WELL. 

ON the clay of parting, some of your number requested to 
be allowed to take a copy of what I had read, that they 
might send it to an absent friend, or keep it as a remembrance 
of me. I did not consent to this, from an unaffected feeling that 
what I had said was not worth so much trouble; but I prom- 
ised to have it printed for them. As it passed through the 
press, I felt still more strongly than before how poor and in- 
adequate is my expression of the great lessons I would fain 
inculcate. I beg you, therefore, not for a moment to judge 
of the value of these lessons from what I have written, but 
let my words lead you to the Divine source from which they 
are drawn. I beg you also to remember that this Farewell, 
though printed, is not publishi d, and to use it, therefore, as 
if it were sent to you in manuscript. 

The hour has at last come, nry dear 3'oung friends - 
when we must part. At the very moment when you 
have become more dear to me than ever before, when I 
feel that we more entirely sympathize, that you more 
cordially enter into nry plans for your advancement, 
and that jouv progress is more satisfactory, at this 
moment we are preparing to separate. And it is right 
that it should be so. If we teachers have been able to 
do anything for 3-ou, it has been to prepare you to go 
on without our aid. We have never attempted to com- 
pel, we have hardly, indeed, attempted to lead 3-011 ; 
but we have pointed out the objects which we have 



AN OLD TEACHER. 



137 



thought you ought to have in view, and have done 
what we could to encourage you to pursue them ; we 
have presented the motives and inducements by which 
we have thought you ought to be urged, and we have 
endeavored to make them yours. This we have done 
with a profound conviction that all real progress must 
be voluntary, and that until we have enlisted your 
hearty co-operation in the work of your own education, 
we have accomplished nothing. 

We have endeavored, every morning, to open to you 
some lesson from the words of the Saviour or his apos- 
tles, or those mighty, inspired men of old, whose lan- 
guage, ever since it was uttered, has furnished the fittest 
expression for the deepest wants and the highest aspi- 
Tations of the human soul ; expression of penitence and 
sorrow for sin, of prostration under affliction, of confi- 
dence and filial trust in that Father who alone can help, 
— the strong and unwavering confidence which a feeling 
of reliance on the strength of the Infinite Helper alone 
can give, and of the boundless hopes of immortality. 
We have endeavored to show you not only how com- 
forting and necessary these words are to us, but how 
transcendently wise and reasonable. We have endeav- 
ored to teach you not only to say, with sinful David, 
u I am afflicted and ready to die," and " What is man 
that thou art mindful of him?" but with triumphant 
Paul, "I can do all things through Christ which 
strengthened me." We have done this, not only 
because we have ourselves daily felt the need of the 
instruction, the consolation, and the wisdom, which we 
find in these divine words and which we can find no- 
where else, but because we have wished to do something 



138 REMINISCENCES OF 

to induce you, dear children, to form the habit of daily 
searching in these exhaustless treasures of wisdom and 
truth and love. And nry earnest prayer to God is, that, 
if all the other lessons I have endeavored to inculcate 
shall be blotted from 3 T our practice and your memory, 
this at least may remain. 

We have every day invited you to prostrate your- 
selves, with us, before the throne of mercy, and to ask 
of God those things which are necessary for us. And 
this we have done not only because we have ourselves 
daily and hourly felt the need of support, strength, and 
guidance, which we believe God alone can give us ; for, 
in reference to our special and personal wants, we 
would obe}^ implicitly the command of our Saviour, 
u Enter into thy closet, and pray to thy Father in se- 
cret," but we have endeavored, in this also, to do some- 
thing to form in you the habit of beginning every day 
and eveiy work with asking the blessing of God. I 
believe in the efficacy of prayer. I believe that the sin- 
cere and heartfelt prayer is alwa}'s heard ; and, when 
it is a right prayer and offered in a right spirit, I believe 
it is alwa} T s granted. How far we maj-pra} 7 for tempo- 
ral blessings I know not. For myself, I dare not ask 
for anything temporal without adding, " Not my will 
but Thine be done." But for spiritual blessings, the 
only ones of any great consequence, we may pray with- 
out ceasing. Weak, frail, and tempted, as we are, we 
must pray ; and however strong the temptation may 
be, I believe that if, in the moment of temptation, we 
can, in the spirit of Christ, throw ourselves into the 
arms of the Father and ask, Father, strengthen thy 
child, we shall obtain strength. 



AN OLD TEACHER. I39 

What, then, are the most important lessons which you 
have been learning, or which you ought to have been 
learning,. during this preparatory course of discipline? 
Is not the first so to use, improve, and occup} T every 
talent of body and of mind, every affection of the heart, 
and every faculty of the soul, that they shall be at 
least twofold greater and better than when they were 
committed to you? Have you a right, on any other 
condition, even to hope for those gracious words of 
welcome from the great Master, " Well done, good and 
faithful servant ! enter thou into the joy of thy Lord " ? 
Is not the second, to set up a standard, in the im- 
provement of these talents, higher than anything earthly 
can furnish, a standard which shall be made up from 
your highest conceptions of what is best and most beau- 
tiful in the visible works of God, and of which you have 
a model, in spiritual things in Him only who came in 
the image of the Father? Is it not to aim continually 
to be perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect? 
Is it not your duty, in the third place, to devote all 
these powers, thus carried as far towards perfection as 
you can have strength and opportunity to cany them, 
to the service of your fellow-creatures ? To learn how, 
in your sphere and according to your abilit}- , to love 
your neighbor as yourself? 

And is not the highest and most consummate and 
comprehensive of duties, which the Saviour has repeated 
as the first of all the commandments, to consecrate 
yourselves, with all your powers of body improved by 
obedience to his laws, with all your mental faculties 
brightened and strengthened by the study of his works, 
with all your social affections perfected by devotion to 



140 REMINISCENCES OF 

his creatures, with all the capacities of } r our spiritual 
nature elevated by habitual reverence, by contemplation 
on bis law and communion with him in prayer, to 
consecrate all to his love, to love the Lord thy God 
with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all 
thy mind, and with all thy strength? 

Think not that you are bound to forget or to sacrifice 
yourselves. On the contrary, the divine lesson of the 
talents commands us to cultivate and improve to the 
utmost every faculty we find ourselves possessed of. 
It o\\\y substitutes, for the selfish motives by which the 
man of this world is influenced, motives incomparably 
higher and stronger and more enduring. What higher 
motive for self-cultivation and self-improvement can we 
even conceive of than the hope of becoming more fit 
to be servants of God, fellow-workers with Christ, min- 
isters of good to men ? 

Whatever faculty you find within you, do not fear to 
use and cultivate it to the highest degree. Whence, 
for example, is a love of the beautiful? Is it not the 
gift of him who is the Author of all of beauty that 
there is in creation ? Can you hesitate to exercise the 
faculty he has given you upon the objects for which it 
was given ? There are some among our fellow-creatures 
who are so constituted, or so educated, that they are 
to be won from evil only by their love of the beautiful. 
Study all forms of beauty and all means of expressing 
it. It cannot be useless to attempt to copy the beauti- 
ful shapes in which God has formed the works of his 
hand, or the colors in which he has clothed them. 

If you live within reach of objects of natural history, 
do not let the opportunity be lost of studying them. 






AN OLD TEACHER. \±\ 

Study plants, birds, shells, rocks, anything that is 
God's workmanship. Do not, for a moment, think 
that the study of his works, pursued in a right spirit, 
can fail to bring } t ou nearer to him. 

Cultivate the power of expression. Study language. 
The first miraculous gift to the earliest converts to 
Christianity was the gift of tongues. It was necessary 
for the highest service then ; it is not less so now. By 
it we understand better, in proportion as we pursue the 
study, whatever is said or written in our own language 
or in other languages. By means of it we penetrate 
into whatever is the object of investigation, and set in 
order our own thoughts and conclusions, and make 
them clear and definite to ourselves. B} r means of it 
only do we communicate to others, for their good or 
pleasure or our own, our thoughts, feelings, wants, 
purposes, and aspirations ; and we express them forci- 
bly and effectually just in proportion as we possess 
more fully, as we have cultivated more faithfully, this 
wonderful power of expression. The extent of our 
knowledge is measured, in some degree, by the extent 
of our vocabulary. By nothing else is man so distinctly 
raised above other animals as by the gift of articulate 
language ; and by nothing else is one man so distin- 
guished from another. The literature of a nation is the 
expression of the thoughts, meditations, fancies, and 
conclusions of the thinkers of that nation. Acquaint- 
ance with literature is an acquaintance with the minds 
of which it is the exponent. The study of language is, 
therefore, the most useful study in the preparatoiy 
course of every one's education, and the studj' of gen- 
eral literature is, through life, one of the most delight- 
ful and profitable of human pursuits. 



142 REMINISCENCES OF 

Our own English literature is, probably, taking all 
things into consideration, the richest of all literatures, 
and for us it is, without question, far the most valuable. 
I would therefore recommend to each one of you to 
make it a point to become somewhat fully acquainted 
with this noble literature. It will take many } T ears. 
But the time, and you must devote only leisure time to 
it, will be well and most pleasantly spent ; and in ob- 
taining this knowledge you will necessarily become 
acquainted with the leading thoughts of the best think- 
ers, upon all the most important subjects, in morals, 
taste, criticism, history, philosoplry, poetry, theolog} r , 
antiquities, and philanthropy, that have occupied the 
minds of men. To have a great object like this in 
view will give a purpose to 3-our reading, and will pre- 
vent its being desultory, though it may seem so. 

There is a great deal of poetry in the language which 
is not worth reading. Of that, a compendium, such as 
Cleveland's, will furnish you with sufficient specimens. 
But there are great and noble poets with whom I would 
advise you to become familiar. Such are Shakespeare, 
Milton, Wordsworth, Cowper, Scott, Bryant, Gray, 
Goldsmith, Coleridge, Young, and Pope, especially the 
first eight or nine. 

I regret that the course you have pursued on astron- 
omy is so defective. For those who remain with me, I 
shall endeavor to remedy the defect. To all of you I 
would recommend a work by Mrs. Lowell, which is now 
in preparation, and two works by Prof. Nichol. 

There are certain portions of history with which every 
well-educated person should endeavor to become famil- 
iar. Such are the history of our own country, of our 



AN OLD TEACHER. 143 

mother country, of Western Europe in modern times, 
of Greece, of Rome, and of Judaea, which last you will 
best learn from the Sacred Scriptures. 

I recommend to you, as valuable parts of 3* our read- 
ing, books of travels and books of biography, as mak- 
ing 3 T ou acquainted, better than anything else, with the 
world in which God has placed you, and with the occu- 
pants of that world. Biography tends to make us char- 
itable. He must be thoroughly bigoted who shall con- 
tinue to think ill of our brethren the Methodists, after 
reading attentively the life of Wesley ; or to condemn 
in a mass those who belong to the Catholic Church, 
after having become intimate with the character of Fe- 
nelon. The life of Elizabeth Fry, or of William Penn, 
proves that there are earnest and sincere Christians 
amongst the Quakers ; the life of Leighton shows that a 
bishop may be very humble, and that of Peabody or of 
Channing, that vital piety may dwell with one who 
rejects all authority of man's device, and admits that 
only of the simple Word of God. 

We are all willing enough to believe in the piety, in- 
telligence, and Christian faithfulness of those of our own 
sect : it is therefore particularly important, if we would 
make our reading help us to become charitable, in the 
comprehensive sense of charit}^, as explained to us b} r 
St. Paul, that we should seek to become acquainted 
with those who differ from us most in their theological 
opinions. There is no danger of our being made to 
waver in our own opinions, if we have formed them by 
prayerful study of the words of the Saviour ; and if we 
have not, it is only right that we should waver, until 
we shall have learnt to obey that great command of 



144 REMINISCENCES OF 

Christian liberty, "Prove all things, hold fast that 
which is good," and that higher command of the Sa- 
viour, "Why, of yourselves, judge ye not what is 
right ? " He need not fear to be unduly biassed by the 
opinion of a brother who has thoroughly learnt the 
great lesson, " Call no man master on earth, for one is 
your master, even Christ, and all ye are brethren." 

Upon the subject of morals, of moral philosophy, 
I have constantly referred you to the source of light 
and truth. It is profitable to read other books upon 
the subject, but it is dangerous to consider them as 
having authority. They may help us to think, to form 
opinions for ourselves, but every practical question 
musj; be settled by our own conscience, enlightened and 
guided by the truths of the gospel. 

To the important subject of mental philosophy you 
have, in your course with me, paid little attention. 
This has not been from airy forgetfnlness or neglect 
on my part. The studies to which you have given your 
attention are more elemental and preliminary in their 
nature ; and most of you are but just reaching the age 
at which metaphysics can be profitably studied. The 
time, however, is coming ; and I can recommend as 
pleasant and useful books, " Reid on the Mind," 
" Stewart's Elements," " Locke on the Human Under- 
standing," " Brown's Lectures on the Philosophy of the 
Human Mind." 

As a help to careful reading and reflection, and to 
the storing up for use of what is most valuable, I would 
advise you to keep a diary, not of your feelings, but of 
the good thoughts or beautiful images which are pre- 
sented or suggested by your observation, by your read- 



AN OLD TEACHER. 



145 



ing, or by conversation. This will cultivate your powers 
of expression, improve your habits of attention and 
observation, and strengthen your memory; and if 
rightly used, it will give you materials for improving 
and elevated conversation. 

Conversation may be made the most delightful of all 
arts. Its first and necessary uses are to carry on in- 
tercourse in all the business of life, to communicate our 
wants, sorrows, feelings, affections, and purposes. It 
may be made an instrument to instruct, soothe, and 
delight. Too little is thought of it, and too little pains 
are taken to improve in it. Hence we find very few 
good talkers, where there might be many. Most peo- 
ple make no progress at all in it ; they talk at sixty as 
they talk at sixteen. They say what comes into their 
mind, without reserve or selection, without choice of 
thought or of language. It should be managed much 
better ; it may, by each one of you. A daily recurring 
opportunity of doing good to others by doing good to 
yourself, of contributing to the pleasure, instruction, 
and elevation of those nearest and dearest, ought to 
demand a better preparation. She who will take & pains 
to have suitable topics for conversation, topics which 
will bring in narrative, imagery, witticism, sentiment, 
and will study the art of introducing them naturally 
and gracefully, will make herself a charming compan- 
ion, and will be a blessing to the circle of which she is 
the ornament. Let me enjoin upon you to take pains 
in regard to your conversation, and let me remind you 
that the indispensable graces of a good talker are sim- 
plicity, naturalness, sincerity, and truth. 

We have taken much pains, in the regulations of the 
10 



146 REMINISCENCES OF 

school, to induce 3*011 to form habits of punctuality and 
order in the disposal of your time. These you will 
find of the utmost consequence. After a few years, 
and as soon as you shall have entered upon the active 
duties of life, most of 3'ou will have very little leisure 
for reading or writing or private thought. That little 
will depend on your habits of order and punctuality, 
and will be of scarcely an} T avail, unless used with 
severe econom3*. But those few moments of leisure, 
wisely used, will make the difference between thought- 
ful, well-informed, wise, and agreeable ladies, and friv- 
olous and gossiping old women. 

There are two practical rules in reading which I would 
gladly engrave upon your memory. Be not deceived 
by names. A book with the best name — a sermon 
or theological treatise — may be the vehicle of arro- 
gance, self-sufficiency, bigotry, pride, uncharitableness, 
in short, of whatever is most inconsistent with, and 
hostile to, the veiy spirit of Christianity ; while a ro- 
mance or a song may breathe the spirit of gentleness, 
humilit}', love, and charity, — the highest and peculiar 
graces of the gospel. Remember that he who began 
his prayer with thanking God that he was not as other 
men were, went away condemned. 

The second rule is. remember that 3*0111' heart, your 
imagination, 3*0111' conscience, are in 3*0111' own keeping. 
Whatever tends to stain the purity of your imagination, 
whatever tends to increase your pride and self-love, to 
make 3*011 think better of yourself and of those who 
agree with 3*011, or to diminish 3*0111' charitableness, and 
make 3*011 think ill of others, of those who differ from 
3*011, whatever tends to diminish 3*0111' love and rever- 



AN OLD TEACHER 147 

ence for God and his Providence, is bad and to be 
shunned, by whatever name it may be called. 

I have spoken of some of the means 3-011 must use to 
improve the talents of which you will be called to ren- 
der an account ; and as all the parts of life are necessa- 
rily connected, I have naturally anticipated something 
of the uses to be made of the talents so improved. I 
shall not, of course, undertake to enter into all which is 
meant by devoting our talents to the service of our fel- 
low-creatures. Every good life is necessarily devoted, 
directly or indirectly, to the service of mankind. We 
have before us, therefore, a subject as broad as human 
life, and as various. 

To a single point in this wide field I would ask for a 
few moments your attention : it is the duty of educating 
yourselves for a life of charity, of devoting to chari- 
table uses the talents you will have improved. I wish 
you to consider this question, whether it is not the duty 
of each one of 3-011 to prepare herself to do something 
effectually to relieve or diminish the wants, the igno- 
rance, the sufferings, and the sins of her poor fellow- 
creatures ? And by this preparation I mean something 
different from the general, vague, good purpose, which 
almost every woman has, to be charitable to the poor. 
I mean a special preparation, a careful inquiry as to 
what are the wants and what the condition of the poor, 
and what ought to be and can be clone by Christian 
women for them. I should be most thankful to my 
Father in Heaven if I could know that he would move 
the hearts of many of you to choose this for your pro- 
fession, as deliberately, as thoughtfully, and as reso- 
lutely- as your brothers are choosing law, medicine, 



148 REMINISCENCES OF 

commerce, or some useful art. A great purpose for 
which Christ came on earth is not accomplished, the 
gospel is not 3'et preached to the poor ; and I think it 
never can be until woman takes up the work. This 
need not take 3-ou from other duties ; it will not inter- 
fere with them ; for he who neglecteth to provide for 
those of his own house has denied the faith, and is 
worse than an infidel. It will only take time which 
would be otherwise lost. 

You will ask me what I think 3*011 ought to do to pre- 
pare 3'ourselves for a life of charit3 r . 

1. I would answer, the first requisisite is an earnest 
desire to engage seriously in the service of God, in the 
way which he has pointed out. How can 3-011 show 
this desire but 03^ serving your fellow-creatures ? How 
can you know that you love God, whom 3'ou have not 
seen, if you love not 30111* brother whom 3*ou have seen? 
You cannot benefit God. He hath no need of you. 
All things are already his. You cannot benefit God. 
You can serve him ontv by serving your fellow-crea- 
tures. 

Some of you will doubtless live a single life. Be not 
willing to lead a useless one. You will have the re- 
sources of art and taste, music, drawing, a rich and 
elegant literature, eloquent preaching and religious 
services that you delight in, refined and cultivated 
friends, pleasant homes, ample houses in city and coun- 
try, and all the other appliances of wealth and luxuiy. 
And 3*011 can live very happ3 T lives in the enjo3*ment of 
all these things. But can you, after hearing all the 
lessons of the gospel, can you suppose that a life so 
spent, no matter how innocent^, no matter with how 






AN OLD TEACHER. 149 

much refinement and elevation, that a life so spent for 
self, is a life acceptable to God? 

2. The second requisite is, that you get a just idea 
of the greatness and excellence of this work, the true 
nobleness of a life of charity. What more noble work 
can there be, what more angelic, than to save from sin, 
from ignorance, from suffering, from despair? This is 
the life which the Divine Being who came into the 
world himself led. He was anointed to preach the 
gospel to the poor ; lie was sent to heal the broken- 
hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and the 
recovering of sight to the blind, and to set at liberty 
them that are bruised. Is not this a divine life? To 
be able to do either of these things, or to help in doing 
either, — is it not worthy of long-continued prepara- 
tion and study? To do anything well requires time 
and labor. To cultivate roses successfully requires 
months of careful attention. To make skilfully a shoe 
or a bonnet requires months and even years of appren- 
ticeship. To make well even the cheapest cotton fab- 
rics which are worn by the poor has tasked the science, 
the ingenuity, the perseverance, the patience of many 
of the best thinkers. Is it worth a less expenditure of 
time and of thought to relieve the wants, to remove 
the ignorance, to cultivate the mind, to elevate the 
character of the wearer? 

3. The next requisite and preparative is to search, 
studiously, the Scriptures. If with an humble, earnest, 
and prayerful spirit you consult these Oracles of God, 
light will come out of them to illuminate your darkness. 
We see lists of text-books and vade mecums for the 
law3 T er, the physician, the architect, the engineer, and 



150 REMINISCENCES OF 

we know that years are required to understand and 
master them. The text-books for the woman of charity 
are the Gospels, the Epistles, the Prophets, the Psalms. 
Are not these books wortlry of equal stud}*? They 
must be studied that 3*011 may fill 3*0111* hearts with the 
spirit of these divine books, and that 3*011 may fill 3*our 
memory with the precious words of consolation, encour- 
agement, truth, hope, for your own support, and for 
the support and guidance of those to whom 3*011 would 
minister. 

Read also the lives of eminently successful philan- 
thropists. You can learn much 03* their experience, 
and your hearts will be warmed by their ardor. I do 
not recollect one of them who did not go about his or 
her work in the spirit of the gospel. When Elizabeth 
Fry went in amongst the abandoned women in the jails 
in London, she felt safe and sufficient^* armed with 
onh* the Bible ; and when Dorothy Dix goes amongst 
the felons and madmen in still more dangerous places 
in this country, her sole armor is the Bible, her trust, 
the Giver of the Bible. 

4. The fourth requisite of which I shall speak is 
that 3*011 endeavor to live a I10I3* life. Do the will of 
the Father, and 3*011 shall know of the truth ; and I think 
none have a right to expect to be led into the truth 
except those who obe3* this condition. How can 3*011 
know how to sympathize with the sorrows of others for 
sin, if 3*011 have never felt any sorrow for 3*our own sin? 
How shall 3*011 be able to discern the deep wound of 
sin in another, if you have never opened 3*our e3*es to 
your own ? How wilt thou see to pluck the mote out of 
th3* brother's e3*e, when a beam is in thine own e3*e? 






AN OLD TEACHER. 151 

With these preparations, or, I should rather say, 
with this continual preparation, gird yourself to the 
great work. It is a great work, and yet, like all other 
great things, it is made up of little particulars. Each 
one of you is now, already, prepared to enter upon this 
work, at least, the apprenticeship to it. You can teach 
a poor child to read, or you can prepare her for the 
Sunday school, and use persuasions with her and with 
her parents to induce her to go there. You can teach 
the excellency of truth and obedience and honesty. 
You can teach the greatness and goodness of God, and 
his all-seeing presence. What you know already you 
can teach. 

What has been done to relieve the wants of the poor 
has often been unavailing, because it has been done in 
ignorance, — in ignorance of their character, wants, 
and circumstances. Will you not be willing to spend 
time in searching thoroughly into the wants, character, 
and condition of those whom you would relieve? It 
will take a great deal of time. True. What good 
thing does not? If you were not spending your time 
in relieving your poor brother, in what better way 
would you spend it? Would it be better to be reading 
the novels of the day? Will your sleep be sweeter 
when you have filled your imagination with the fancied 
sorrows of a fancied heroine, than when you have been 
endeavoring to teach a motherless child to follow the 
example of her risen Lord, to offer an evening prayer 
to her Father in Heaven? Would time be better spent 
in embroidery ? Is a cushion or a slipper for your sis- 
ter of more consequence than bread for a hungry child ? 
Will your time be better spent in making and receiving 



152 REMINISCENCES OF 

calls? When 3-011 lay your head upon your pillow at 
night, and commit yourself to the protection of the 
watchful Shepherd of Israel, will it be a sweeter thought 
to you to enumerate the agreeable and fashionable peo- 
ple 3*011 reckon on your list of friends than to call to 
mind the lone and forsaken lambs 3'ou have been seek- 
ing to gather within His fold? 

Will your time be better spent at the pla} T , the opera, 
the concert, the ball, or in making preparations for 
them? Do not suppose, my dear children, that I con- 
demn either of these ; I do not. Indulge in them. 
Only take care to do it innocently. Take care not to 
neglect other things more important. Only remember 
that for all these things God will bring you into judg- 
ment. I do not condemn them ; I 011I3* ask, When the 
sun shall be setting for the last time to your earthly 
e3~es, which will sound sweetest to 3*our memory's ear, 
the songs and airs of the concert and the opera, the 
merry tunes to which 3*0111* own feet have moved, or the 
hymns in which 3*011 shall have taught poor outcast 
children to sing the praises of their God? 

Oh, if 3*011 will try the value of time by an unfailing 
test, send forward your thoughts, on the wings of 
heaven-taught imagination, to that day when the Son 
of man shall come in his glor3* and all the I10I3' angels 
with him, and before him shall be gathered all nations, 
and he shall separate them one from another ; and the 
King shall say to those on his right hand, Come, 3-e 
blessed of m3* Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for 
you from the foundation of the world ; for I was an 
hungered, and 3*e gave me meat ; I was thirst3*, and 3*e 
gave me drink ; I was a stranger, and ye took me in ; 



AN OLD TEACHER. ]53 

naked, and ye clothed me; I was sick, and ye visited 
me; I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then 
shall the righteous answer him, saying, When, Lord? 
And the King shall answer, and say unto them, Ver- 
ily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto 
one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it 
unto me. 

What will then be your rejoicing, if, while these 
words are uttered, a multitude shall present themselves 
before the King, of those whom you have fed and 
clothed, and saved from prison and ignorance and sin ! 

What will be your dismay, if, among all the recol- 
lections of earth, there shall not come one — not one — 
memory of a brother saved ! 

I have thus endeavored to suggest some of the means 
you are to use to cultivate the faculties which have been 
intrusted to you, and I have pointed out a great object 
to which you should devote them. I have endeavored 
especially to urge upon you the motives which should 
lead you to live a life of charity, and the great beauty 
and excellency of such a life. 

I trust that the few words I have said will suffice to 
recall some of the many I have addressed to you in the- 
daily morning lessons. I would only add that we 
must seek the means of obeying the first and great com • 
maudment, by giving ourselves resolutely and faithfully 
to the work which is suggested by the second, which is 
like unto it. 



IS 1907 






